


Gaining ground

by Spectre_Anon



Series: Out of the Fire [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Anxiety, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Junkrat has problems, Paranoia, and a pinch of violence, now with added plot?, secretly I just want them all to be happy, what else should i tag?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 82,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectre_Anon/pseuds/Spectre_Anon
Summary: Junkrat, D.Va and Lucio make some fumbling attempts at friendship.





	1. Chapter 1

His first few weeks at Overwatch had been touch and go. His fault maybe, but Junkrat liked to think he wasn't the only one to blame. It all came down to a lack of mutual understanding. Things that were perfectly acceptable to a Junker were way out of line by Overwatch's code of conduct, and seemingly harmless parts of a normal life in the base set him on edge and could easily throw him into a state. 

No one had bothered to warn either party that there might be difficulties. Nobody had thought, perhaps, to outline what to expect. The results were... explosive. And not in the fun way, Junkrat thought. 

It had almost ended as quickly as it began. He'd have blown a big old hole in the side of their fancy headquarters and him and Hog would've waltzed off to the next score without so much as a wave... It would have been easy. Except for that simple conversation... he still thought back to it sometimes, puzzling over why it happened, what it meant... but in the end all that mattered was that the tide was turning. They learned.

The Overwatch members began to realize that quiet didn't just make him bored, it outright drove him to the edge. They picked up on the tells. They noticed that not everything he forgot was intentional. That when he spoke to them he wasn't always just trying to irritate them, that his own fumbling attempts as charm were genuine. They learned to always look for traps if he was in the area, and most importantly that they should never, ever, sneak up behind him or touch him unexpectedly.

In turn Junkrat began to piece together a new way of life. For one, it was not acceptable to rob the kitchen and hide the food in his own hoard. Nor was okay to just take anything he found lying about. Setting explosions off without warning was very frowned upon, even _if_ there was nothing or no one in the way, and casual demolition for 'architectural improvement' was an absolute no-no. Weekly showers were not optional. Soldier 76 did not appreciate smiley faces being drawn on his visor...

It seemed the list went on and on, but slowly something was beginning to fit. If Junkrat didn't know better he'd say he was getting sentimental and _that_ was a lark, there'd never been time for that in the outback. Never had the luxury of staying in one place there... not even after leaving, really, not with a life of crime to contend with. People, places, they all got exchanged sooner or later. At least for now... at least for now he was starting to think his spontaneous decision to join hadn't been so bad. His fifth week made him question that.

It started pleasantly enough. He'd made his way to the kitchen intent on refilling his flask, humming an odd little tune stuck in the back of his head, but immediately something was off. They were waiting for him. 

He'd noticed people tended to do that rather than looking for him these days. Tracer, the only one who still bothered to search, had pointed out that he wandered so much it was easier for most to just stay put until he ambled in.

Lucio and D.va had the totally predatory look that screamed 'ambush' in his head, and it took a force of will to stay put. His eyes flicked around the kitchen. He couldn't see any danger. It was just the two of them, studying him intently as he hesitated in the doorway. The prickle at the back of his neck was irrational, a response designed for a place long behind him, but his limp in was still cautious, a nervous giggle escaping his lips. “See something ya like?”

Lucio coughed and looked away but D.va was unabashed, leaning across the table toward him as he approached. “Junkrat, how old are you?”

The suddenness of the question caught him off guard. He scratched at his chin, blinking as he tried to think numbers. “Off the top of me head?” 

It wasn't something he really concerned himself with, why count years when you grew up inches from disaster? He knew the police reports seemed to know but he never paid too much attention to them, always too busy laughing. “...Twenty something,” he concluded, “what's it to you?”

“Mercy says you're twenty-five,” D.va accused.

“Sounds 'bout right.”

“Don't you see?”

“See what?” he asked. This whole situation was entirely suspicious, he'd barely had a conversation with these two before. Sure Lucio had given him some music but he hadn't hung about. The two of them did what half of the base still did – avoided him as much as was polite. Now he was under some form of interrogation. His peg leg tapped quickly at the ground, unable to settle.

She rolled her eyes as if the matter were obvious. “You're younger than _Lucio_.”

Still desperately trying to pinpoint the purpose of the conversation he looked from one to the other. “And?”

“You don't look it,” D.va said, pointing a finger at him. “We thought you were _old_.”

He narrowed his eyes a little, catching Lucio's face-palm. “Alright, ya don't have ta go-”

“It's not like that, man,” Lucio interrupted, setting a hand on D.va's shoulder as if to still her and lifting the other in a gesture of peace. “What she's trying to say is that we always figured you were one of the older members, but you're actually one of us. The youngsters. You get me? So we though maybe... maybe you'd like to hang out some time? It'll be fun – eat some snacks, play some games, get to know each other...”

He trailed off, expression uncertain, as if he were rethinking the whole idea. In fact, despite his diplomatic approach Lucio seemed more wary than his fearless friend. Junkrat had picked up a few tricks on reading people over the years, had to if you wanted an edge in a confrontation. So, in the rare instances he focussed his attention he could get a good measure of them. Lucio still considered him a threat. That didn't stop him though. It was the sort of strangely optimistic way someone might extend a hand to a wild animal while still fully expecting to get bitten. 

They were after something from him, he was sure of that. There was no other way his mind could twist the situation. Yet despite that something kept him from turning away. 

Stupid. Overwatch was making him soft... but as hard as it was to admit it he was getting to like the way people spoke to him more frequently these days, how they didn't always look at him with disgust... and he knew he shouldn't care, knew this way of thinking was dangerous but it was like a boulder rolling and picking up speed until he couldn't get it back under control. 

Part of him wanted whatever this new life was bringing him. Hungered for those fleeting moments he felt like he mattered to someone other than himself... even while the other half whispered that it was all a lie. And he'd learned... ever since he was a young scrapper he'd learned - when you wanted something, you took it. You robbed it, tore it from your enemies hands if you had to, but you made sure it was yours, grabbed everything you could and ran before someone could kill you for it. Passive people never survived. You made a move, you took a risk, you won.

There was a noise, snapping him back to reality with the sharp burst of adrenaline. His muscles had already tensed up but as his eyes locked on the source he saw it was only D.va clicking her fingers at him irritably.

“It's like he's AFK. Hello?”

Junkrat relaxed again, grinning his most toothsome grin. “Reckon I will.”

“What?” She squinted, as if it would somehow help her understand.

“Yer offer,” he said, this time turning his attention to Lucio. “Food an' games, right? If ya still wantin' me splendid company that is.”

Lucio blinked. He had clearly not been expecting him to agree but he recovered quickly. “Sure man, it'll be great!”

D.va was suddenly beaming with excitement. “What games do you play?” she demanded eagerly, pulling her phone out to scroll though a list of colorful titles. Junkrat recognized none of course. He made a point of looking at them anyway, pretending they made sense to him as more than pretty pictures. 

“Not much of a gamer meself, ain't a lot of that where I'm from if ya catch my drift,” he admitted while D.va continued to scroll.

“Oh.” Her hesitation was momentary, then she grinned again. “Well with my training you'll be up to speed in no time! _I'm_ number one.”

“I wish she was bragging,” Lucio said with a shake of his head. He was smiling too though, cautiously, but it was genuine. Lucio's smiles always were. “It's okay though, we'll all co-op, it's more fun that way anyway.”

“Only because I'd smash you into tiny pieces.”

“Oh I _know_ you would, I won't even deny it. Anyway, Junkrat, what time you free?”

“Any time I ain't behind bars,” he said, unable to prevent a high pitched giggle from escaping. It wasn't even a joke by joke's standards but that didn't stop him. 

“No, but, for real?”

“Mate, if I ain't on a mission I don't have a bloody schedule. I'm free whenever ya like.”

“How about tonight?” D.va asked. 

Wasn't like he had other plans. Still, part of him remained wary, the part that still remembered what caution was despite his muddled brain. _What if it was a trap?_ They were obviously after something but... hell, what could they do to him? He'd wriggled himself out of plenty of nasty situations in the past, he doubted they'd throw something as challenging his way, nor did he see why they'd want to. This was an opportunity. He told that quiet, skittish voice in the back of his head to shut up.

“Sure,” he said lightly, and maybe his grin stretched a little tight but they didn't seem to notice and despite the lingering suspicion he could feel a spark of excitement building. Day by day people at the base were starting to come around to the idea of him, and every step in the right direction felt like a victory. He would win.


	2. Chapter 2

The concept of passing time was still largely new to Junkrat. Hadn't always had the luxury of wasting it, needed every spare minute to gather what you could – food, water, scrap to sell, junk for weapons, even to just prepare for what might be out there or put some distance between anyone planning on killing you. 

And sure, there had been nights when hunger twisted like a knife in his gut or the cold bit too deep and he knew he couldn't sleep, could only tell jokes to himself as he huddled up and wait out the dawn... or when the fierce midday sun beat down at its peak and there was no choice but to lie in whatever shade was available, sickly and sweltering but unable to move for fear of making it worse... it wasn't the same. The sudden emptiness where ' _things that needed to be done_ ' should have been felt wrong. 

It hadn't been so bad when he'd first left, him and Roadhog had run from one one adventure to the next, laying carnage to all within their path. It had seemed to Junkrat that that sparkling world went on forever. There was always something new to see, to steal, to experience, to destroy... and when there wasn't they'd move on to the next place, never a dull moment, never a pause.

Life at Overwatch headquarters was different. When not required for active duty there was a lot of time to fill, and that led to – as the others like to put it – him making a nuisance of himself. Not like he meant to, really, he just... didn't like the quiet, the stillness, the lack of happening. It went against his very nature.

Some members had come to begrudgingly accept it. Some even smiled when he wandered in, wicked grin on his face and a greatly exaggerated story already spilling from his lips. Others did not. Funnily enough Symmetra was not one of them. 

Everyone had expected them to hate each other with a passion, and they'd hit it off with a rough start it was true, but they'd developed what he could only describe as an odd sort of truce. Too different to be close but they understood enough of each others quirks that they could manage something. And sure, he had the hunch she filtered out most of what he said once he got rambling because she always wore her headset when he was about, but she didn't ignore him, didn't excuse herself when he appeared. 

It made the workshop one of his favorite places to frequent. Even if she wasn't around Torbjorn often was and despite being prickly at times he was still a good sort by Junkrat's reckoning. Swapped stories, let him look over his turret designs, lent him tools when he mislaid his own. 

After Lucio and D.va had gone there separate ways, and Junkrat had spared a few minutes to track down Tracer and continue his campaign of trying to pester a pulse bomb out of her (and be denied, of course), he'd made his way to the workshop.

Symmetra was sitting at her usual bench on the carefully ordered side of the room that had become _hers_ , a space he wasn't allowed to intrude. He offered a 'G'day' in her direction as he made a b-line for Torbjorn's absent table. 

Any other plans he'd had were scattered. There was a pile of new materials laid out by a half constructed turret and his fingers itched to get all over them. The old scavenger instinct, still at large. Before he knew it he was picking up piece after piece, turning them this way and that as he examined them, tried to work out their purpose, their value. The bits he was done with were tossed unceremoniously back into the pile.

Symmetra's voice was calm in the background. “I would be careful not to mislay any components. Torbjorn would likely not appreciate it.”

Junkrat flapped a hand as if to wave away her concern. “Eh, it's all good Sheila, just takin' a looksie. Not seen this stuff before. He's makin' something new, right?”

“I believe he is attempting to upgrade his design further.”

“Can't see what needs improvin' meself,” he said, dropping a strangely shaped metal screw and glancing over at her. “'cept maybe addin' more explosives.”

She was perfectly poised, eyes on her work as she drew. “There is always room for further improvement.”

Same as ever. He made a noise. Not quite agreement, not quite disagreement, more like the verbal incarnation of a shrug. Symmetra was a stickler for finer details, loved everything to be just so, always fussing. Junkrat lived off the philosophy of 'good enough'. If it worked, it worked. He'd never really understood why she spent hours each day drawing up new blueprints and making changes so small he couldn't even recognize them. His attention span wouldn't last a fraction of that. Any time he asked her about it, teased her for wasting the day, she always gave the same plain response. 

He changed topic. There was always something for Junkrat to chat about. In fact, once he felt secure enough to start there was very little that could stop him. He painted faces on a stack of bomb casings to keep his hands occupied while he talked - rambling about one thing or another, telling jokes he couldn't remember the end of, complaining about things that had no relevance. Symmetra would nod every so often, or offer a short response. It was quite like talking to Hog in that way. Just odd little sounds to assure him that he wasn't ignored, to fill the silence when he trailed off. It was good enough.

Eventually though his mind drifted back to the problem of earlier that day. His thick brows knit into a frown as he stared at the half-finished face he'd been painting. Hesitantly he looked up at Symmetra. She was watching him, alerted by his sudden quiet.

“You, uh... ya trust everyone here, right?” he asked, not entirely sure where he was going with this.

“Of course. We are all on the same team, working for a greater purpose.”

“Sure...” And she was right, he knew that, had never been given reason to doubt. The only enemy was his own instincts, how quickly they allowed suspicion to brew when folk didn't do what he expected. He pushed them aside. “So... ya know anythin' about video games?”

Her expression was bemused. He gave a sudden, shrill laugh at the sight of it, dropping his paint brush as he tried to stifle the sound with a hand, sides shaking. Why it was so funny he didn't know but something about the confusion on a face that was usually so composed set him off. Only got a look like that if you caught her off guard. Once he had himself back under control he spilt the story.

“It's just... well, don't know a bloody thing 'bout 'em meself and I figured it might help, if ya did that is, just so I ain't goin' in blind. Give a bloke a few tips and tricks. Be doin' me a right favour.”

She tipped her head to the side slightly, weighing his question. When she spoke it was slow and thoughtful. “I am not one for 'gaming' so there is little insight I can offer. However, while I am not always best at reading people's intentions, I doubt they would have invited you based on experience. It is a social activity for some, meant to enforce bonding. Approach it as such and I am sure it will go well.”

“Ah, it's easy for you to say, ya didn't rope yourself up into this mess. Just don't like walkin' into something without knowin' what to expect, ya get me?” he said, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “It's like... holy dooley, don't know how to put it into words but there's somethin' not right 'bout it.”

“You made the decision to join Overwatch before seeing the facility and meeting the agents,” she pointed out. “Is that not the same?”

“Yeah, nah... maybe. Doesn't change much. Just wondered if ya had some intel, give me a leg up... well, just one.”

She ignored his chuckle and fixed him with a stare. “Jamison. It will be fine.” After a moments pause she added, “If you intend to go I would make a note of it. Your memory can be fickle and they may take offense if you do not make an appearance.”

“Gotcha.” He finger-gunned at her, grinning. Her expression was exasperated, but also faintly amused he thought – it was often hard to tell with Symmetra, her responses were carefully measured and ordered, just like everything around her. 

“And you should shower.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Again? Already?” How people could willingly waste so much water he'd never understand.

“Yes.”

He huffed, and made no promise either way. It was one of several reasons he was not permitted on her side of the workroom. Symmetra tolerated him better than many but only if he accepted her boundaries. But Junkrat understood territory, knew that if someone put a claim on a place you stayed clear unless you wanted a fight. Picked that up from a young age. And maybe he hadn't always listened, but there was no need to break unspoken rules now, no desperate struggle to survive.

He occupied the rest of the day drifting from one task to the next. Blowing up training bots, raiding the monkey's supply of peanut butter, doing maintenance on his arm and leg, joining in a game of cards with the cowboy – leaving shortly after when the archer kept asking questions about his treasure. There was always one distraction or another, and so long as he kept moving the stillness couldn't catch up to him. 

___

In the end he found himself back with Roadhog, recounting what he could remember of the day while the mountain of a man tried to focus on his book. It looked tiny in his massive hands, it was enough to make Junkrat snicker, losing track of what he had been saying entirely. 

Roadhog's sigh was deep and long suffering. “Do you ever shut up?”

“What? Just makin' conversation, mate... or tryin' to. Ya don't half make it hard at times.”

Roadhog gave an irritable grunt. Junkrat ignored him, flipping onto his back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. If Hog wanted peace he should have known better than to stay out in the open in the main lounge. Nothing but a locked door would keep Junkrat at bay... and sometimes not even that. He pulled out one of his bombs and began to toss it lazily. “Think it'll be long till the next mission?”

“Dunno.”

“Yeah? Well I hope it ain't. Got some new mines I've been meanin' to test, real kick to 'em. Picture this,” he said, setting the bomb of the floor and lifting his arms up, forming a neat square with his fingers. “There we are, outnumbered seven to one... to two... to... ah it don't matter, point is there's a bloody lot of 'em. Anyways, there they all are, comin' right at us across the bridge and then... boom!”

Junkrat splayed his fingers. “Off they go, blown sky high...” He giggled to himself. “Or, well, off the bridge at any rate. Concussive blast. What ya think?”

Roadhog grunted again.

“I know, right? Genius.” He grinned at him but his bodyguard was focussed on his book still and Junkrat's expression fell to a pout. Then he smiled again. “Tell ya what, I can show ya now if your keen for it, sneak peak before the big firework show.”

“No explosives indoors,” Roadhog warned. Junkrat scoffed, and Roadhog looked up at him. He didn't doubt for a second that his eyes were narrowed behind the glass lenses of his mask.

“I know that ya drongo,” Junkrat said, wafting away his concern, “soldier seventy-whatzit's tellin' me every day. Nah, meant on the trainin' range. No rules about that.”

“It's getting late.”

“What's the matter grandpa, need a nap?” he taunted.

“You're supposed to be somewhere.”

Now Junkrat's eyebrows drew together in a moment of confusion. Was he? He never really had to be anywhere, unless something needed to be blown up, and those times seemed painfully few and far between. Maybe the doc wanted to catch up with him? She kept calling him back every week or so, going on about potential lingering effects of radiation and what-not. 

Roadhog was studying him, waiting to see if he could work it out for himself. And Junkrat wanted to. Hated moments when something slipped his mind like smoke through his fingers. It was fine when he didn't notice, when it didn't matter, but when folk just expected him to know shit and there was a gaping hole in his memory instead... it felt like losing his footing. An odd, lurching moment of imbalance. 

He narrowed his eyes to pinpoints, and when he didn't speak Roadhog prompted him.

“Satya told me you were having a games night. Asked me to remind you.”

“Who the heck is Satya?”

“Symmetra.”

“...right.” He scratched at his chin, trying to snatch back snippets from the day. He'd had a conversation with her, couldn't remember what about. She didn't seem like the type for games though so it had to be someone else... then it hit him and he sat up sharply, clicking his fingers. “Oh! Mech girl and the short one! It was them, ay?”

Roadhog's grunt confirmed it. Junkrat beamed, pleased with himself. After a little more thought he even recalled where to meet. Something kept him lingering though, a reluctance to move he couldn't put his finger on. Roadhog was having none of it. Maybe he just wanted a chance to finish his book but once he was sure Junkrat knew where to go he all but booted him out the room.

___

Junkrat clunked his way through the corridors, muttering to himself as he went.

Roadhog was right. This had been his idea. His choice to agree. Wasn't much point in backing out now, he wasn't a coward or nothing... just had his doubts. They kept hounding at him: the way they had been waiting, like an ambush, and then inviting him onto their territory, alone, like a lure, a trap... ah bloody hell, he was so used to watching out for shit like that it was impossible to ignore. 

He squared his shoulders and powered through, refusing to turn back. When he reached the door he didn't pause. Knocking sharply with his prosthetic he called out, “Oi, it's me. I'm here.”

Junkrat hung awkwardly in the corridor, his peg leg tapping at the ground while he listened. Felt like an age before the door was pulled open.

Lucio blinked, then immediately broke into a smile. “Oh hey man, you made it! Hana and I weren't sure if... well, doesn't matter, you're here now.”

He felt oddly defensive. “Said I would be, didn't I?”

“Yeah, it's just... ah forget it. Come on in.” He ushered him in enthusiastically. Junkrat's step was cautious, eyes darting about the room as he quickly assessed its contents. 

They had agreed to group up in D.va's room on the grounds that she had the best gaming set up. It had the same basic layout of all the rooms in the base from what he could see, but the walls were covered with colorful posters. Several screens stretched across the desk amidst a sea of cables and snack wrappers. D.va herself was lying on her front on the bright pink bed spread, legs kicked up behind her and bottle of fizzy drink in her hand. She gave him a wave. “Hiya.”

“Hey,” he returned.

Lucio closed the door behind him. Junkrat's twitch was barely perceptible. 

“So,” Lucio said as he wandered back to his beanbag, “make yourself at home. We've got chips, we've got dips. Haven't started any games yet, we were talking over what to play just when you showed up.”

“We'll start you off on console seeing as your a noob,” D.va said. 

“ _Hana!_ ”

Junkrat didn't know what noob was but he guessed it was an insult going off Lucio's reaction. She didn't seem to mean anything by it though, and whatever it was he'd almost certainly been called worse. She wasn't paying attention to him now anyway, leaning precariously off the bed to reach one of the glowing boxes under her desk and punch at a few buttons. The screens lit up and she grabbed something and lobbed it in his direction. “Here.”

He caught it reflectively. A plastic device of some kind, with a pair of control sticks and an array of strange buttons over its surface. She passed one to Lucio too and kept one for herself. Junkrat studied the device curiously, glancing at the other two to see how they held them, trying to mimic the way they let it settle in their hands, the way their fingers curled around the triggers.

“Take a seat dude,” Lucio prompted, “relax.”

D.va stretched a leg off the bed and nudged the swivel chair by the desk with her foot. 

Junkrat supposed that was acceptable. He'd be able to leap out of it quickly if he had to, much better than another beanbag. “Ta.”

He sat down.

“We'll try this one first,” D.va was saying, navigating quickly through a menu screen, “it's a standard hoard mode.”

“Standard. Right,” Junkrat muttered, trying to focus on the images on the screen when his eyes kept wanting to flick elsewhere. This all seemed to be going too quickly.

“It's pretty simple,” Lucio said reassuringly, “you just have to survive waves of enemies, kill as many of them as possible while staying alive. We're all working together so we'll help you out, just yell out if you're getting overwhelmed.”

The screen was flashing again, some kind of intro with low background music. Then suddenly the picture changed. It split into quarters, one dark and the other three looking out at the ruins of a city.

“You're bottom screen,” D.va said while he continued to stare. The pictures on the top two quarters had already started to shift.

“What do I do?” he asked.

“Follow me,” she said.

Junkrat glanced over at her but she wasn't moving. He looked back at the screen again, frowning. There was movement on his one now, a figure jumping up and down infront of wherever the camera was. He looked up at the top screens, observed how their view shifted. Ah, he thought he got it now. The figure was being controlled by D.va. 

A second figure joined the jumping one. 

“Come on man, we've only got a minute to set up before they start pouring in,” Lucio said.

“Yeah, this way, hurry up,” D.va said, and the figures turned, running a short distance before turning around again.

Junkrat looked down at the controller in his hand. “How?”

There was a pause. Then D.va burst out laughing. 

Junkrat hunched his shoulders defensively, glaring at her and trying to ignore the frustrated anger beginning to bubble inside. “Well what the fuck did ya expect? Told ya I ain't never played crap.”

“My bad,” she said, still shaking from laughter. Lucio was trying to hide his own smirk. This had been a mistake, a damn stupid mistake. His teeth ground together.

“Should have started you off with some tutorials,” D.va said appologetically. “It's fine. Here, see this stick here? You move that one to move. Try it.”

Still glaring he nudged the stick with his thumb. The view on the bottom screen moved. Curious now Junkrat shifted it again, this way and that, observing how the picture changed, following his movements. Like magic.

“See? Easy. Now try the other one. That's your view, it changes the way you're looking.”

He followed her commands, a hesitant smile creeping on to his lips as he spun the camera in slow circles. Strange that such a small level of control could be so gratifying.

“You're a natural. Almost ready for jumping I think.”

“Might want to start a new game first,” Lucio said, “we'll be overrun in a few seconds.”

“Don't worry, I can carry the both of you losers.”

“ _Hana_.”

“Oh fine.” She dragged them back to the menu. When she booted up a new game she quickly had Junkrat running around, jumping obstacles and firing or switching weapons under her guidance. He picked it up quickly. Surprisingly quickly if their reaction was anything to go by, but he'd always been a fast learner, it was a good survival trait to have. His aim was still shit but that was nothing new. They let him play characters that didn't need great accuracy. 

Slowly the tension he had initially felt began to ease. His posture relaxed. His grin came more naturally, his laugh bursting out sporadically as enemies fell. Before he knew it he was talking, joining in the excited conversation as they narrated the battle, recounted their epic plays, talked strategy. And then talked about other things. The problems with the base, complaints about other members, offhand chatter that meant nothing. He barely even noticed the shift. Didn't dare comment on it when he did.

It was the early hours of the morning when they finally called it a night.

“Best be on me way then,” Junkrat said reluctantly, getting up and giving a quick stretch, working out the stiffness in his muscles.

“Crap you're tall,” he heard Lucio murmur. 

He squinted down at him. “Ain't everyone tall to ya?”

D.va giggled.

“Alright, maybe, but I mean you're seriously tall, man. Just never noticed before. You don't stand up straight a lot.”

“Can't mate, not with me bum leg. Best this way anyhow, gotta give others a chance.” He relaxed back into his usual slouch, limping off towards the door. “Cheers for the games.”

“You had fun though, right?” D.va called after him, causing him to turn.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, guess so. Weren't half bad.”

“Wanna do it again sometime then?”

He stood still, considering them. He barely trusted himself to speak. “Sure,” he said eventually.

D.va beamed. “I'll make a gamer out of you yet.”

He wasn't sure if that was true, but as he made his way back to his own room he supposed it didn't really matter. Fact was the night had closed a little of the distance between them. That was all that he cared about, that and the smile that still lingered on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up longer because I wanted to throw in some interaction with different characters. I still like the idea that Junkrat and Symmetra sort of get along and everyone else is totally confused as to why they don't hate each other...


	3. Chapter 3

Games nights became something of a routine. Well, as much as anything was a routine in the chaotic tangle that was Junkrat's life. Sometimes he forgot, or something else caught his attention, or they had missions, or he simply wasn't in the mood, but they never seemed to mind and the invitation was always there. 

That helped. A lot, more than they probably knew. There was no pressure to it, gave him the choice, the ability to feel a little control over the situation rather than something he was trapped in. And it wasn't that he minded really, just that he liked knowing he could get out if he wanted to. In the literal sense as well... and they must have noticed that, because they had taken to leaving the door just slightly ajar rather than closing it once he was inside. It was a nice gesture. 

Nothing could be done about his general twitchiness because that was hardwired into him but apart from that he felt relaxed. The longer he spent with them the more his brain seemed to grudgingly accept that none of this had been a trap, and the rest of him could whole heartedly invest itself in the games, in the company, in the time they spent together. It felt like there was a place for him there. 

Sometimes there was more than games night too. At D.va's suggestion he had built some harmless firecrackers for them to rig teammates doors with. Seemed a waste of materials to him for such a small bang, but she'd been adamant and he admitted it was plenty fun to watch peoples reactions, all of which D.va caught on video. Naturally he got into the most trouble for it but he was used to Soldier's scolding by now, didn't pay it much mind.

Lucio asked for some feedback on the music he was working on too. Junkrat didn't really know much about music, hadn't had the chance in the outback. Closest thing to music there was when someone felt brave enough to sing, and that was rare – and when it happened it was tuneless, the singer usually drunk. 

Still, he grasped enough to understand that Lucio's work was good, that the beats and notes all seemed to fit together, that they ticked little switches in his head that made him smile without quite knowing why and he figured that was what music was meant to do. Told Lucio as much and earned a laugh. 

Even if he didn't have real feedback to give, the guy didn't seem to mind. When he talked about changing or adding sounds, fixing the tempo, or amping it up, Junkrat suspected he was more or less talking to himself, but he did that a lot too. Sometimes it was nice just to know someone was listening, even if they didn't understand.

It struck him at some point that he was seeing far more of the two. More than others in the base. He'd taken steps to pester everyone at some point or other, but while he fancied he'd built a few shaky bridges none of them seemed as keen to share his company on a regular basis. And he wondered if that made them mates now. Real pals, proper close. The exuberant part of him that grinned at everything on two legs wanted to declare ' _yes!_ ' and giggle with joy, but the rest of him was skeptical. 

They hadn't known him that long, had they? He wasn't great at tracking time but he didn't think so. How long did it take to be friends, official like? Probably different from where he was from. There people just sort of fell in together, and if you liked 'em that was fine but they'd probably still stab you in the back if you had something they wanted. Exactly what had happened once he'd found his treasure...

Only real mate he'd had was Roadhog. First person he hadn't had to worry about stealing his shit in the night... and he loved the big lug for it, for watching his back, for taking the edge off the fear, for putting up with his non-stop chatter, for simply being there... a constant presence that kept him grounded. But Roadhog was his bodyguard. He'd hired Roadhog. Lucio and D.va were different, and he didn't know where they stood. 

When his thoughts got too tangled and he found himself running in circles of uncertainty he hit his head against a wall. Set his focus on that pain, instead, and reminded himself that it didn't matter. He shouldn't be so sappy anyways, wasn't he a hardened criminal? And besides... So long as he was moving forward, gaining ground with them, then everything was fine.

Until he went and fucked it up. Junkrat supposed that was always inevitable.

____

When Junkrat ate, he ate fast. Couldn't help it. As soon as he'd tasted his first bite instinct always kicked in and he practically inhaled the rest. It didn't matter that he knew he didn't _have_ to any more, he was still so used to it. For years he'd known that as soon as you had food you had to eat it as quickly as possible. The longer you left it, the more chance someone could snatch it from you, and food was a matter of life and death. 

First time he'd been in Sydney - Australia's costal city, one of the few real pieces of civilization left – he'd eaten so much he was sick. He simply couldn't believe there was so much _available_. Since then things had gotten easier. 

He remembered most of the time to eat when he needed to eat, to accept snacks one at a time so the temptation for more wasn't overwhelming. And sometimes he forgot. Forgot that there was food _right there_ if he wanted and went hungry, or stole packages to hoard in his personal stash. But he thought he was getting the hang of it.

The first time Lucio and D.va had caught him eating they'd given him an odd look, but they hadn't said anything. As far as he could tell they accepted it as another of his quirks. They passed him sweets a handful at a time, measuring each dose carefully. And that was all fine. That wasn't the problem. The problem arose when they tried to take something from him.

It was a small mistake. 

He'd managed to find a packet of chocolate biscuits in one of the top kitchen cupboards. These days the rules seemed to be that if something in the kitchen didn't have a name on it, it was free game. Since he couldn't see any writing on his prize, that meant it was all his.

He settled gleefully at the table, ready to tear it apart when Lucio wandered in, D.va following close behind, though her eyes were set on her phone. Lucio's gaze lingered longingly on the packet.

“Aw man, that's my favorite brand. Think you could share?”

Junkrat grinned. “There's more, grab your own.”

“Sweet! Where?”

Junkrat's grin widened. Slowly he pointed to the top cupboard. As Lucio's expression fell he let out a loud laugh, curling in on himself as he tried to stifle it, gathering himself back under control.

“Come on, you know I can't reach that,” Lucio complained.

“Guess you'll just have to find a ladder mate!” he teased, opening his own packet.

“Why you gotta be like that?”

“Don't know what ya mean,” he said, though his expression said that he very much did. He attempted to control it, to look sensible for a moment, but he failed miserably and before he knew it that sly grin was back in place. “I'll give ya a boost if ya like, if ya need a _little_ help.”

Lucio rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. By now they'd grown used to Junkrat's way of teasing, knew that there was no malice behind it. Some of the base still hadn't got their heads round the concept but they, at least, accepted his personal brand of humor. If anything they encouraged it.

“You're lucky,” D.va interrupted without bothering to look up from her phone, “that he doesn't have a _short_ -temper.”

This time Lucio groaned. “You're just as bad as he is.”

Junkrat was too busy snickering to argue, and D.va just stuck her tongue out. 

“Come on man, just give me one at least,” Lucio begged.

Junkrat just wiggled his eyebrows. “Ya askin' for a _small_ favour?”

“Seriously,” he said between laughs, “come on-”

He snatched for the packet and something snapped in Junkrat's head. Suddenly this wasn't a game anymore. Someone was trying to take _his_ food. Instinct won out and before he knew it he shoved the other man back, curling around the packet protectively as he bared his teeth. “ _Mine_ ,” he snarled.

He hadn't meant to. Hadn't even thought about it, that was the problem.

Then everything sank in and he remembered that this wasn't _then_ anymore, that this wasn't _there_ , that this was Overwatch. That Lucio was staring at him with a sickening sort of fear, that D.va had dropped her phone. And it was all too much. His appetite was gone. 

He stood up hastily, almost losing his balance.

“Changed my mind, you can have 'em,” he muttered awkwardly, turning and lurching away. Maybe they called after him, he didn't know, didn't care really, he just had to be gone.

He wanted to destroy something. Wanted to make things explode and revel in it, the way the sound filled everything, thrummed through him and removed all else from the equation until there was only fire and smoke and nothing would matter any more. He could lose himself in that. And he did. The training range shook with the blast of explosives, and the sun was just beginning to set by the time Junkrat put his frag launcher aside and considered the carnage. 

He'd burned through more bots than the monkey would probably be happy with, had wasted far more of his personal ammunition than was wise too, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that he couldn't quite seem to forget. That as the fires burnt down to embers there was no lingering satisfaction. The memory was etched into his mind too brightly, and it prickled at him like an itch that wouldn't go away, and when he tried to deal with it that only made it _worse_.

They'd been frightened of him. He'd _made_ them frightened of him. And it was stupid, so stupid that he should care, that when everything else could slip his mind that this remained, wouldn't go away. Kept bugging him.

His stomach felt hollow, and not just with hunger. He should have known this would happen sooner or later. No matter what he did, he didn't really belong here. He was a Junker at heart. A bleedin' mess held together with spit and instinct, and that didn't fit with this cushy lifestyle. Maybe that was why people seemed to keep their distance, maybe they _should_. He couldn't get what he wanted. Couldn't squeeze himself into this life, with these people, this place. He was wonky, misshapen, a piece of jigsaw that wouldn't fit. Could never fit.

He didn't even realize his hand was tugging at his hair until someone reached out to stop it. He flinched away from the touch, but when he turned to look it was only Roadhog. 

“Heard the noise. You okay?”

“Wot? Nah, I'm fine mate, just gettin' a bit of practice in. Can't say me aim don't need work, ay?” he said quickly, dropping his hands to fiddle with his canteen so they had something to do.

Roadhog's grunt was unconvinced.

Junkrat took a drink, screwing the cap back on slowly. His eyes didn't quite seem sure where to go. “Well alright, maybe I've got some shit on me mind then,” he said eventually, when the meaningful pause grew too much. “It's just... ya ever miss home, Roadie? Australia I mean...”

Roadhog didn't reply. Junkrat listened for a while to his labored breathing, a familiar sound that reminded him that he wasn't alone, that someone was still paying attention. His eyes finally settled on the sky, and he took a breath, words spewing out fast like they always did. “I hate it, ya know? Place was a god damn shit-hole, nothin' good ever happened there, saves meetin' you maybe... I _bloody_ hate it... but... I miss it too, ya know?”

He wasn't sure how to phrase it, and he chewed on his blackened nails for a moment while he thought. “Was familiar, right? Home. Knew what to do there, how to get by, how it all worked... we fit... _belonged_... now 's all different.”

“Can't go back,” Roadhog said, “people want you. Your treasure.”

He laughed weakly. “Ain't sayin' I want to go back mate, just... ya get it, right? Ya get what I'm sayin'?”

There was a pause. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Roadhog said again, and that seemed to settle the matter. 

“Sorry for bringing us here,” Junkrat added.

Roadhog sighed. There seemed to be a lot to say in that sigh. A certain fondness, exasperation, a little impatience. Junkrat had learned how to read it all.

“Oi, alright, sorry for tryin' to apologize then ya great lug,” he retorted, crossing his arms in an exaggerated sulk. Roadhog nudged him, pointed back toward the base. Reluctance swept over him in a wave. Could drown in that feeling. Still couldn't quite shake the memory. 

“Think maybe we should blow this dump? Been long enough, bet there's other stuff we could be doin', less of this hero drama. Could start with a heist. Kinda miss the old crime spree. Was fun, don'tcha think?” He looked up at Roadhog expectantly, peg leg beginning to tap at the ground. It didn't want to stop.

Roadhog's reply was slow, gruff. “Think you should get something to eat first.”

“And then?”

“Then some sleep.”

“And then?”

“Maybe.”

Junkrat bit his lip. He stared out at the sunset one last time, then his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Alright,” he said softly, bending to pick up his empty frag launcher. “Alright.”

He followed Roadhog inside, back into the cold, enclosed space of the Overwatch headquarters and tried not to think too hard about the image seared into his mind. About the almost accusing way those fearful eyes had looked at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Junkrat is a mess of bottled instincts and sometimes it gets the best of him. Still, it's possible to salvage this situation.  
> Anyways, if you have any comments or feedback to give I'd love you for it. Don't have anyone to proof read and I only did a quick skim over so I'm sorry if there are some stupid typos, you can always point them out and I'll fix them :)


	4. Chapter 4

Junkrat didn't leave. He wasn't sure why. Wasn't even sure why he'd stayed the first time round, but some part of him insisted on clinging despite his inability to wrap his own head around it. If anything that just lead to further frustration. 

Overwatch was supposed to have been a spur of the moment thing, a glittery prize he'd decided he wanted but could leave at the drop of a hat if something else caught his attention. It wasn't turning out that way. It was turning into a right mess.

He took to avoiding D.va and Lucio. Sometimes he wondered if they were doing the same, he wouldn't blame them... but he had no way of telling. He didn't dare ask any of the other Overwatch agents. Even asking Roadhog or Symmetra felt wrong, like a dirty secret he didn't want to admit to, like he could pretend none of it happened if he didn't speak of it... but as hard as he tried it didn't help him forget.

He was aware all of this was only delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later he'd have to see them. They'd bump into each other without meaning to, or be assigned on a mission together... then he'd have to meet their eyes, see the way they looked at him, confirm everything he'd already told himself... the thought made him sick.

He argued with himself about it a lot. 

On one hand this was a good way to end it. He'd learned his lesson, seen how incompatible he was with everyone here, so it should make the next step easy. He should up and leave. This venture was concluded. It was time to get going because it was never a good idea to stay in one place anyway, and him and Hog had been here far too long... but on the other hand... he didn't want to. He didn't want to just walk away, to leave this place behind like he had every other place in his _god damn_ life because he thought that for once... for once there was actually something to _miss_. It left him strangely unsettled. He hated it.

This wasn't something he knew how to fix. Junkrat wasn't sure it _could_ even be fixed. He would give up caring if he knew how but it wasn't a tangible creature he could kick away, or kill. He couldn't fight it. All he really knew how to do was sulk, and that was a pain for everyone involved.

When Junkrat sulked, he didn't sulk quietly. Nor did he have the good grace to do it alone. 

He wafted through the base like a bad smell, ready to inflict his mood on everyone he could find. People who had found him irritating before found him downright insufferable. Practically reduced Mei to tears.

Roadhog at least had ridden out some of Junkrat's worse moments before, so he knew what to expect, if not how to remedy it. Others were not so fortunate.

He was sabotaging himself and he knew it. Burning all the bridges he'd built, crumbling the foundations he'd striven so hard to make... yet his awareness of this only fueled the fire, only made it worse. He was ruining everything, he didn't know how to make it better, but he still couldn't convince himself to cut his ties completely. He was trapped, trapped because somehow the last few weeks had turned him into a sentimental piece of _shit_ that didn't know when a job was done.

He got the feeling that if he didn't do something sooner or later then Roadhog would make the call for him, either kick him into action or drag him away from this place. In the end it wasn't Roadhog though. In the end it was someone smaller, someone he hadn't really wanted to see at all.

___

Junkrat's sleeping habits were... erratic, to put it lightly, which was really a part of his own design. Sleeping at the same time, in the same place, felt too predictable. People would know where to find you. That was never a good thing, especially when you were at your most vulnerable. He couldn't stand it. And yes, maybe there wasn't any need for it here, maybe it was plain paranoia at this point, but the fact was that if he _didn't_ move he was too anxious to catch a wink of sleep anyway. 

So on occasion he would gather up his blanket and his traps and find a nice little corner that no one expected him to be in to set up. He had a few favorites. Places he knew nobody frequented, ones with sneaky nooks and crannies to hide in. 

This time he'd picked one of the store rooms in the lower reaches of the base. It wasn't fancy accommodations by any means, it was cold, and dusty, and echoed something awful. The pipes along the walls would rattle or groan like ghosts in an old tomb, but Junkrat didn't mind. He liked odd little noises. A background hum to keep him grounded, so that he had something to listen to besides the ringing in his ears. You always had to listen.

He set his traps and removed his prosthetics before he curled up behind one of the far shelves, trying to remember what it had been like before. Back when everything made sense. 

It seemed a lifetime ago, when the word _'friend'_ meant nothing more than a passing acquaintance, when people were lost or exchanged so fast they didn't matter... sometimes they just moved on or you had to leave, sometimes they died, sometimes they tried to kill you... but always they were gone. 

When he dreamed, he dreamed of an orange landscape, baked hard beneath the scorching sun. The ground was cracked, dusty, the air arid and lifeless. It was familiar. But the people there kept trying to grab him, to snatch at him with their painfully digging fingers and ask, _'Aren't you our friend? Why don't you tell us? Where is it? Why?'_ There were so many pulling him down, blotting out the sky as they crowded over him and he couldn't shake free, couldn't tear from their grasp. 

He whimpered. He thought he remembered a moment like this. 

But then there was fire and everything was okay again. No one else would dare brave the flames. The roar of them seemed to encompass him, encourage him even, promise him safety. Promise an end to all that he hated, and he wanted to giggle because it seemed so funny, that something so terrible could be so kind. But that had always been the way, hadn't it? An explosion could tear him limb from limb... had on occasion... but it was glorious, a magnificent power that offered itself to him and no one else could touch. 

Australia burned, and in his mind Junkrat did nothing but laugh.

Then there was a sound. A footstep maybe, something out of place. It jerked him from his sleep in a sudden panic, hand scrabbling for his frag launcher, amber eyes wide in the dark.

“Hey, easy, didn't mean to startle you...” the voice said, audibly cautious.

Junkrat took a moment to place himself. He remembered who he was, where he was, when he was... he forced himself to lower the weapon, to calm his breathing. 

“Well ya picked a bloody odd way to do it,” he said, not bothering to hide the accusation in his tone. “'s not exactly polite, sneaking up like that, disturbing a bloke's beauty sleep.”

“And you could _really_ use some beauty sleep,” D.va said, a faint flicker of a smile just visible by the light of her phone. “...sorry. That was mean. Not the best way to start this really... you're a tough guy to track down, you know that?”

Junkrat shifted, lifting himself into a sitting position. His fingers still hovered close to his frag launcher, unsure what to do. “Kinda the point,” he told her.

“Right... well, I'm making a move since both of you two are too chicken to do it, so at least hear me out?”

He considered her. She stood with her arms folded, dressed in pink pajamas and carrying nothing but her phone. She didn't look threatening. Part of him still wanted to tell her to _fuck off_ and leave him be, but he summoned enough control to shove that thought aside. He'd done enough damage already. No point messing things up even worse.

“Ya lucky ya didn't step in any traps.”

“Nearly did,” she admitted, “but I'm not _stupid_. Just walked around them. Now will you stop changing the subject?”

He gave a grunt, one of begrudging acceptance, and finally managed to pull his hand away from his weapon. He picked up his prosthetic instead, slotting it onto his stump and doing it up. Felt a little better with two hands to work with, a little less vulnerable.

D.va lowered herself down slowly until she sat in front of him and crossed her legs. “You were a jerk,” she said. Before he could argue she lifted a finger to silence him. “ _But_ you didn't mean to be... I think I get it. I'll tell you a secret if you want.”

He frowned, trying to work out her angle. Was this a bribe? An exchange? A trade of information? Or maybe she was trying to put him at ease, to make him think that he had the upper hand so he wouldn't suspect... or maybe he was just running circles in his own head, asking questions that had no place here, reading into every word and action when there was nothing to find.

She seemed to take his silence as a sign that he was content to listen, and gave a sharp little nod. Her hands settled in her lap, clasping the phone. When she spoke again there was a subtle shift in her tone. It was as if some of that cheer, that confidence, had suddenly run dry. D.va's voice was quiet. “When they drafted me into the army I was frightened.”

She tilted her chin up as if daring him to laugh. He bit his tongue. Junkrat knew he wasn't exactly the best with words and somehow he understood that whatever she was telling him, she thought it was important. Not something he should interrupt with a poorly timed joke or a rambling story of his own... no matter how tempting. He forced himself to stay silent, attention fixed on her even while he fidgeted.

She sighed. “I'm not a _coward_ or anything, but... I was just a gamer back then... I just played video games, and suddenly everyone wanted me to fight a war... it scared me. So I told myself it was all another game. Just a game, nothing more.”

D.va gave a rueful smile, eyes dropping back to her phone again. “It made it okay. I played video games so much that I could just react instinctively, just what I did every day, and if someone died then that was only data, and if I died I knew I'd respawn... so long as it was a game I wasn't scared... all that counted was winning... but I got stuck thinking that way. And sometimes in a game you make the call to leave a teammate because it's not worth the trouble, it doesn't matter when you know you can be doing more elsewhere... I'd forget that they were real people. It was only afterward, when they brought the bodies back...” 

A small shudder wracked her frame, her shoulders curled forward defensively. “I didn't mean to but... I just didn't think. I'd taught myself so well I just reacted, did exactly what I would have done if it was a game... it was all instinct, and that's hard to fight... you just act, don't you? You don't think, just do, and it's only later that you realize you shouldn't have... that you made the wrong call because you just _didn't think..._ ”

“Weren't your fault,” he said hesitantly, because it seemed like the right thing to say.

D.va shrugged. “Yes and no. But I _won't_ make the same mistake again... I've been teaching myself better habits. There are some games I can't play anymore now, and I tell everyone it's because they're too _easy_ , but that's not the truth...”

This time she managed to lock her eyes with his, and her expression was stern. “This is a _secret_. People can't know. I'm not Hana Song, I'm _D.va_ , girl gamer extraordinaire...” She pulled her classic victory pose for a second before relaxing again. “She can't have these problems.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” she replied, voice firm. “I just wanted you to know that I get it, okay? Acting on instinct... you're not the only one trying to unlearn a few things.”

Junkrat wasn't sure what to do, so he did what he usually did when uncertain and grinned. 

“You don't have to look so pleased about it,” she told him.

“Eh, 's just nice to know I ain't the only one missin' a few screws around here.”

She snorted, but he thought he saw a trace of a smile on her lips. “I'm surprised you have any screws left at this point.”

“Ya kiddin'? Half of me _is_ screws,” he said, raising his prosthetic arm and giving it a good pat. She shook her head, and he was sure she was smiling this time. Brought a little more fire to his own grin. 

“You're such a dork.” 

“What's that thing ya say? Takes one ta know one?”

“You're going to make me forget what I was saying.” She readjusted her position, drawing her knees up under her chin and resting her phone on her feet as she composed herself. “The _point_ I wanted to make is it's okay if you snapped, so long as you didn't mean to. I get it. No one's going to hold it against you... and if there's stuff we have to avoid then fine, just let us know and we can do that. But you _still_ need to apologize to Lucio.”

Junkrat's gaze flickered away, dancing across the shelves. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Dunno. Get the feelin' he ain't exactly keen on seein' me.”

D.va groaned. “And _he_ thinks you need your space, which is exactly why _I'm_ here. Trust me, it'll take more than a little shove for Lucio to hold a grudge. I spilt soda all over his record collection once – totally _not_ my fault by the way - and he _still_ forgave me. You spooked him but that's nothing. Just say you're sorry.”

“...it's that easy?”

“ _Literally_ that easy,” she assured him.

He doubted it. Could remember the fear he'd seen on that face. That wasn't something that could be erased with a word, fear didn't care about words, it was inbuilt, clingy. Lucio had seen a threat and only an idiot let a threat get close again. Still, he made a sound, a sort of half-hearted agreement that maybe, _maybe_ she was right. That seemed to be good enough. 

D.va got to her feet. “Well, I'll let you sleep, I'm supposed to be streaming in a few minutes. Catch you tomorrow?”

“Sure.” He paused, certain there was something more he should be saying, something important, but he drew a blank. His fingers drummed on the ground. In the end he just added, “You, uh, mind your footin' on the way out, right? Traps have a bit of a bite to 'em, don't want ya endin' up like me.”

“I'll be careful,” she promised, waving to him before she left. The pale light from her phone caused the shadows from the shelves to rear momentarily as she walked away, then as the light faded with each step the darkness grew, smothering him once more.

He listened to the steady tap of his own fingers on the ground, to the rattle of the pipes on the wall. Junkrat knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep now, even if he had wanted it. Slowly he reached across for his peg leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe slightly self indulgent but isn't that what this entire fic is? Funny thing, I used to hate D.va when I first played Overwatch, but after a while, the more I thought and learned about her character, the more it occurred to me that she isn't as shallow as she first sounds... _"The destruction caused by the omnics here... it reminds me of home..."_ Oh god, that line.
> 
> But anyway, I still don't have anyone to proof read so sorry for typos, I'm happy for you to point them out. And thank you for everyone who has left kudos or comments, you make my day!


	5. Chapter 5

By the time dawn finally broke Junkrat's lids were heavy, but it was hardly the first time he'd skipped a night's sleep. He paced the hallway, gnawing on his lip as he tried to convince himself that this was a good idea. It _was_ , or at least the best plan he had, but... what if it wasn't? What if he was wrong and this just made things worse and then... and then...

He'd been having this argument with himself since he got up. Sometimes quietly in his head while he tinkered in the workshop, other times out loud because it was easier that way and he didn't have anyone else to listen to, to fill in the spaces between the intermittent clinks of metal. It would have been nice if Symmetra were about but she had the strictest bedtime routine of anyone in the base. So he worked alone, muttering to himself, expression changing rapidly as he flipped between the total conviction that this would work and the dull certainty that he was doomed to failure.

D.va, it seemed, had forgiven his slip up. He didn't frighten her. But she was always the fiercest of the two. Stubbornly brave, never backing down from a challenge... and maybe that's what he was in her eyes, a challenge. An uncivilized maniac that should reasonably stand no chance of fitting in here, one that she was determined to find a place for... he wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.

The fact was though that Lucio was not D.va. Lucio didn't like watching nature documentaries because the _animals_ died. Heck, how could a guy like that just forget what a threat he'd proven himself to be? Ignore the fear like it didn't have every right to be there? Why was he even bothering to _think_ he had a chance of fixing that?

The answer was obvious... if he didn't fix it, then everything would slip away. He'd ruin what he had left, D.va would give up too, and then it would just be him and Hog... just the two of them... and that should be enough, right? It always had been before... but somehow a taste of this new life left him hungry for more. Greedy. Junkrat supposed he'd always been greedy. Came with the criminal territory.

D.va had promised him that an apology would work, and with that thought in his head he'd finally managed to convince himself that it was worth the risk on the off chance she was right. Yet the longer he waited, the harder it got.

The clank of his peg leg as he walked circles wasn't loud enough to fill the quiet, to drown out the steadily increasing ringing in his ears... he was jittery. It was too still, too empty, and he moved with no sense of purpose, just anxiety like a creature pacing its cage... he wanted to get out. To go, to do something, to be somewhere else, to build something or break something or steal something or even just yabber his head off... but here he lingered, frustration tying him in knots as his hands sought out anything to occupy them and his eyes mapped out every inch of the narrow hall... because if he left, he wasn't sure that he'd come back. So he had to stay. Had to, even when he wanted nothing more than to run. 

Then the door opened, and whatever he'd been feeling before morphed into an entirely fresh kind of panic. 

Lucio was still in his Pajamas - a loose green shirt and shorts – and his eyes appeared out of focus like he was still half asleep, ready to make his usual trudge to the coffee machine before breakfast. It took him a moment to register Junkrat standing there, all six and a half foot of awkward, gangly limbs. He blinked, taking a small step back.

Junkrat shuffled, trying his best to look like he'd just been on his way past and not, perhaps, lurking outside for the better part of an hour. Everything he'd planned to say ran screaming, and his head felt painfully blank. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He'd wanted to open with a joke, a smile, a laugh... yet he stood here like a deer in the headlights and all he could manage was a grimace. He was going to fuck it up. He was going to fuck it up and he knew it.

Junkrat coughed, found he remembered what words were. “Oi, uh... this is for you.”

He shoved the little metal object into Lucio's hands more gruffly than he meant to, stepping back immediately. He couldn't keep still, kept fidgeting on the spot, but his gaze was fixed on Lucio's face as he tried desperately to unravel his expression.

Lucio's eyes were wide. _Alarmed_ , Junkrat decided with a sinking feeling. _Shit_.

Slowly the DJ's attention fell to the object resting in his palms. He turned it over cautiously, examining it. “It's... um... not going to explode, is it?”

Junkrat laughed. The sounded tapered off to a nervous titter and he shook his head. “Nah mate... least, not unless ya want it to... sure I could rig somethin' impressive if ya like-”

“No, no,” Lucio interrupted hurriedly, “it's cool man. Not exploded is good...”

He returned his attention to the object, studying it. Junkrat shuffled from foot to peg leg and back again, still at a loss for what to do with himself and beginning to entertain the idea of simply walking away rather than enduring this slow, humiliating death. Why did he think this was a good idea? This was stupid, stupid even by his standards... and now he had to wait, unable to do anything while this terrible plan ran to its inevitable conclusion... he hated waiting.

Then Lucio let out a sudden sound, causing him to flinch. “Oh! It's a frog, isn't it?”

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised it had taken him so long. Junkrat's creation was patchy, a mish-mash of parts he'd liberated from the workshop and put together almost on a whim. It lacked the elegance of Symmetra's work, or the old-fashioned, sturdy simplicity of Torbjorn's... in fact the only positive word that seemed to fit his design was _'creative'_. It wasn't refined, it wasn't pretty, just the best he'd been able to do with what he could scavenge... the more he thought about it the worse it looked. Just a piece of junk. A vaguely frog shaped piece of junk. The fuck had he been thinking again?

“Yeah,” Junkrat admitted reluctantly, scratching at the back of his neck, “ya like them things, right? Frogs?”

Lucio appeared mystified. “I do... you made this? For me?”

“Nah I made it for ice girl. Course it's for you ya dipstick! Figured I, eh, owed ya somethin' after before... made a right twat of meself. Weren't thinkin' straight, not that that's any excuse...” He trailed off, still trying to read Lucio's expression. “So... reckon what I'm tryin' ta say is... sorry?”

It took far too long for Lucio to respond. Long enough for Junkrat to draw a thousand miserable conclusions, for his nails to start biting into his palm through the fabric of his glove... his brows knit together in a scowl, lips pursed tight as he got ready to storm off, to forget this whole bloody conversation...

Then hesitantly, the DJ's fingers curled around the tiny frog, drawing it closer to his chest. He smiled. A careful smile, one that seemed near confused, but a smile none the less. He met Junkrat's darting eyes. “Thanks man.”

Junkrat let out a slow, shaky breath, and smiled right back at him. All manic cheer and teeth. “Yer welcome, mate!”

And part of him was still giddy with disbelief, and part of him was beginning to wonder if this was some sick kind of trick, and part of him was busy piecing together a joke, but most of him... most of him was just happy. Lucio didn't hate him. Lucio wasn't yelling, or telling him to get lost, or backing away. He wasn't frightened. A little tense maybe, but not really frightened. Junkrat had a second chance and this time he swore he wouldn't mess it up. 

A laugh bubbled out of him, light and airy. “Right, well, I got things to do, guess I better _hop_ to it...”

Lucio's lips quirked up just a little more. “Okay... I'll see you round..?”

The way he said it made it sound almost like a question. Junkrat shrugged. “Maybe.”

____

When he found his way back to his room Roadhog was waiting. He took one look at Junkrat and grunted. _Good_ , it seemed to say, _you're back to normal._

“Oh rack off,” he muttered, but there was no sharpness to the words. He dumped his frag launcher carelessly on the desk along with the traps he'd picked up from the store room. He was pretty sure his blanket was still in the workshop but he couldn't be bothered collecting it, not yet.

Instead he collapsed onto the bed, humming contentedly to himself. Hadn't decided what else he was going to do with the day. Perhaps he'd try and track down Tracer again, see if she was more amenable to the idea of letting him near her pulse bombs this time... or he could have another go at stealing the cowboy's hat... or see if the big armored guy would agree to be test subject for his latest batch of mines... or if the old lady would be willing to sleep dart someone again and let him draw faces on them... or even just see if Symmetra was up for a good yack. All the possibilities were there, he just had to reach for them.

Roadhog turned to go, apparently satisfied that his intervention would not be needed after all.

“Oi Hoggy?” Junkrat called after him, rolling onto his side.

“Hmmmm?”

“Ya don't mind, do ya? Stayin' here, this Overwatch shindig? I mean... 's not what we planned, no big scores or fancy heists an' I ain't got much to split fifty-fifty but... it ain't all bad... keeps the cops off our trail, and them Talon pricks too... think maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay after all... if ya feel the same...” he added, watching his partner closely.

Roadhog's looming figure slowed, and he looked over his shoulder. “'s good for you,” he rumbled eventually.

“Eh?”

“Good for you,” he said again, as if that clarified. “Here.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?”

Roadhog paused, considering his next words carefully. That was often the way with him Junkrat thought, ponderous in comparison to his own fast paced chatter. “It's different. Living here. More like... before. You wouldn't remember.”

“Ya mean before the omnium?” Junkrat asked, eyes widening. Roadhog almost never spoke about the old Australia. He'd been too young to recall anything of it himself, had grown up in the aftermath of the nuclear fallout, scavenging and stealing to survive, but Roadhog was older. He was there in those times.

Exactly what Junkrat thought about it depended largely on his mood. Sometimes he didn't give a toss about _'what was'_ , it wasn't like he knew enough to miss it... other times he pined after that old land something fierce, at the kind of life he'd never had a chance at. He'd pestered Roadhog for stories, but his bodyguard remained stony on the subject, offering monosyllabic answers at best and a warning slap at worst. 

This time though Roadhog gave a nod. “Yeah...”

Junkrat's grin was smug. “So ya like it here then?”

There was no way for him to read his expression with the mask but Junkrat had more than enough practice deciphering his posture, in the subtle ways he shifted. Roadhog seemed offended at the suggestion, mildly irritated that Junkrat would not just accept his words and leave it there, but not angry. He huffed, breath wheezing in and out before he chose his reply. “I'm in no rush...” he said begrudgingly. “If you want to stay a while, that's fine.”

Junkrat supposed that was the most he could hope for. He cackled to himself. “Just a big softie, ain't ya? The 'one-man-apocalypse', _pffft!_ Wish the rest of 'em knew, still look at ya like they think you'd rip their heads off...”

“Maybe I would.”

Junkrat knew he could, if he wanted to, had seen it first hand. But then again he'd been with Roadhog for long time and his head was still very much attached to his neck despite how much of a nuisance he'd been. 

He snorted, giggled, and flopped onto his back. “Course ya would, mate, an' I'd set the whole damn place on fire an' have us a barbecue... but no point in it just yet... wouldn't exactly be polite, yeah?”

Roadhog only grunted, and he must have considered that an end to the conversation because he lumbered off. Junkrat let him go, mind already drifting elsewhere.

_____

That night he made his way to D.va's room. The door was just slightly ajar as they'd taken to leaving it, and he could hear the sound of their voices inside, spilling out into the gloomy corridor with the yellow light.

He hadn't been here in days. Wasn't sure quite how long, but long enough that his presence felt awkward, and he hovered outside for a moment just listening. He'd fixed this. He'd apologized today. He _knew_ he'd fixed this, yet being here spurred an odd twinge of doubt. They sounded so happy without him there, bickering about some online thing he didn't understand and it seemed so obvious that if he walked in he'd be the intruder, the outsider, the enemy...

He closed his eyes, fighting down the urge to fidget, the urge to run. Instead he thumped his prosthetic against the doorframe and after a split-second pause stuck his head in. His grin was wide but strained, gaze dancing rapidly as he assessed the situation. “Miss me?”

“Hey! Rat's here!” D.va cried, rolling over the bed and all but kicking Lucio in her excitement. “What took you so long?”

Lucio turned to look and he was smiling too. “Come on in dude, Hana's got this new game she's been bugging us to play, you'll love it.”

And he did. And just like that, everything seemed to fall back into place again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a nasty earthquake and endless aftershocks I've been too anxious to sleep so I wrote this instead. Honestly this is just turning into tooth-rotting fluff, I'll have to think of some new way to spice it up. Thank you for reading (and especially those who have commented, I love you)!


	6. Chapter 6

People often mistook Junkrat's flickering gaze to mean he was never paying attention to anything. The truth was rather the opposite – he was trying to pay attention to everything. While this proved counterproductive at the best of times, his agitation did not let him settle on one detail - _unless_ it was particularly demanding. Every small sound or subtle movement drew his eyes. It was one of the many reasons he liked explosions. They were big, they were loud, and everything else paled in comparison. It left him truly focused on the glory of the blast, allowed him to fixate, to quieten his mind. That was part of the appeal, though the sheer power and destruction they carried in their wake was equally as infatuating.

Explosions were an uncompromising force of nature that could not be challenged, that could tear apart every threat, every enemy. Dancing with that danger was exhilarating. He knew one slip could kill him, but after spending so much of his life hanging by a thread it barely seemed to matter. He knew that anyone standing in his way was in a _much_ more precarious position. So long as he held that danger close, nothing could touch him. It felt like he was standing on top of the world.

He would have much rather been reveling in that kind of excitement than be, say, stuck in a mandatory briefing.

The monkey tried. He really did, but words alone could not hold Junkrat's attention for an hour. Nor could the occasionally exasperated glances he sent in his direction.

He shifted in his seat, eyes ghosting over his ‘fellow agents’. Some of them were restless too, he could recognize the signs. Their waspish movements, the hushed murmuring amongst themselves when they thought the big ape wasn't looking. It all told the same story. For a moment, he wondered what they might be saying... Drivel probably, it didn’t matter. Why even bother to eavesdrop? It would be far more interesting to just set the whole place on fire and be done with it. His mind played over the scene, a smile at his lips.

The monkey gave a harsh cough, pulling his attention once again. Junkrat scowled, readjusting his position so that his peg leg was resting across his knee, fingers curling around it. They tapped away, his prosthetic hand clinking against the metal in what he expected, going by the monkey's expression, was an exceptionally annoying way. It served him right. 

Junkrat hated this, hated just waiting, trapped in this stuffy room with nothing to do while the bloke just talked and talked and talked and didn't let Junkrat say _anything_.

“Now, I know a few of you only want upcoming mission details - and we've covered them - but please, this is just as vital. … I hope,” the monkey continued, “that we are all on the same page here. I, ah, know that some of you might not place a high value on this element - but I assure you, team unity is important. We have to work together! And, I don't want to go pointing fingers here, but there are some of you who are a little .... stand-offish...” 

His gaze drifted to Hanzo before he appeared to shake himself and continue. “-And those who like to stir trouble _without_ considering the consequences... and those with... existing disagreements... but, it's vital that we move past this. We have to pull together... with new recruits lined up I want to make sure that we are the best that we can be. The more of us there are, the harder it will be to resolve all this, so now is the time. I can't force any of you, but must I encourage you to take steps! We will move forward and, uh... yes... move forward,” he trailed off, adjusting his glasses as he pondered his words. “Right... well, I think that was the last of it. Morrison?”

“You heard him team,” Soldier said, arms folded. Junkrat wasn't sure if it was the visor that made him look stern or if it was just something about the man, a perpetual sort of seriousness that ran from head to toe. “Put any squabbles aside, there's no time for disunity in the field. I will not be allocating missions based on who has a bone to pick with who. Dismissed.”

Junkrat all but flew out of his seat, itching to be moving again. He was the first one out the room. That was only to be expected, seeing as he'd positioned himself at the back where he could keep an eye on everyone, angled so that the door stayed in his peripherals. Old habits had yet to die.

“Roadie, Roadie, Roadie,” he chanted, spinning on his heel as his bodyguard followed at a more respectable pace. “Feel like me brains drippin' out me ears, could have carked it in there mate, 's not natural, people talkin' on for so long.” 

Roadhog gave a derisive snort.

Junkrat rolled his eyes. “Oi! I know I natter but least when I do it it's interestin'! See, that monkey's got no understandin' of drama, gotta add some spice to a story, theatrics, explosions!”

“Not story telling. Mission briefing,” Roadhog said plainly, keeping stride as Junkrat limped off.

He hadn't quite decided where he was going yet, there were so many places and ideas, it felt good just to be walking. He had too much pent up energy to think clearly.

“An' what was that bit at the end? Somethin' about getting' chummy? Can't see the problem meself, we work fine as a team, walloped them Talon pricks plenty of times.”

“Just because no one's trying to kill each other doesn't mean we're a good team.”

“Course it does!” Junkrat insisted. “That's the definition of a good team, ay? Mean it's bloody fantastic, really, been here... don't even know how long an' no one's tried to knife us. That'd be a miracle where we're from.”

“Not in the outback anymore,” Roadhog reminded him.

“As if I don't know. Point is, ya gotta have a bit of perspective, am I right?” he asked, flinging his arms wide as if to air the question. “Now, I like gettin' to know folk, love some friendly banter, but ya can't force people ta like one another, that just breeds snakes, all that hidden venom ready to strike... it ain't right. Ya tally up ya differences an' ya make boundaries, don't matter if ya got problems so long as ya can get a job done. I don't like everyone here mate, an' they sure as hell don't all like me despite me charmin' ways, _oh do I try_ , but it ain't an issue. Things work fine right now, an' if it ain't broke, don't fix it.”

Roadhog was quiet for a while, and Junkrat got the feeling he was studying him. The faint tilt of his head, the way the mask's eyeholes seemed to be directed more at him and less at the way they were going. Eventually he spoke up. “Winston's not picking on you.”

“Ya what mate?”

“The monkey. His problem isn't just with you.”

“Then who's it with, huh?” he demanded, kicking at the ground.

“Hanzo. Symmetra. Pharah and Ana... me.”

Junkrat's eyes widened. “You? What the fuck is wrong with you, mate? Ain't no problem there, nothin' what needs changin' anyhow.”

“I keep to myself, like it that way... he'd call it anti-social. Not good for team bonding.”

“Well I'll tell that oversized circus pet where he can stuff his _'team bonding'_!” Junkrat growled, shoulders tensed as if ready for action.

Roadhog simply chuckled, a deep, booming sound that scared the living shits out of just about anyone but Junkrat. He shook his head slowly. “Leave it. My problem, not yours.”

“Ya problems are mine, mate. Fifty-fifty, remember?” Junkrat said, completely sincere. 

This time he grunted. It sounded like a disagreement, but there was a lightness to it, a faint hint of lingering amusement. He reached out to pat Junkrat's head.

Junkrat had had enough practice that he knew not to flinch. He could tell the difference between an angry Roadhog that was about to give him a warning slap to shut him up, and a contented Roadhog that was just remembering old gestures from a time long ago. He bore the attention for all of a second then shrugged him off.

“Alright, quit it. I ain't got time for that. Ya wanna help me steal some shit later? See, D.Va was tellin' me about these things called fireworks the other day... they're like explosions, but smaller and in pretty colours... an' I was thinkin', no point in makin' 'em smaller, right, cos what's the point in an explosion if it ain't spectacular... but I could stand to try the colour thing... shouldn't be too hard, just need to grab some new compounds. Make things interestin'.”

“Fill out an acquisition form.”

“Ya kiddin'? That ain't no fun, Hoggy, figured ya were better than that. Not turnin' into a law an' order freak, are ya? Strange of you to start actin' like a _pig_.” He snickered at his own poor joke, grinning toothily at his bodyguard.

This grunt was more irritated than before, and suggested that Roadhog was having none of it. Sometimes he was hard to budge, stubborn as a... as a hog? Were hogs stubborn? Junkrat's mind wandered and he forgot his earlier question entirely. Soon enough he was ranting on some other tangent as he all but skipped down the hallway, oblivious to the start of the conversation, and Roadhog made no move to jog his memory.

_____

Games night was on that evening as usual. As D.Va babbled about the latest game she'd picked, Junkrat spared a good minute simply staring at the junk bunny sitting on her desk while he chewed his fingernails. D.Va had insisted he build it for her after seeing Lucio's frog. When he'd presented it to her she'd proudly declared it was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen, but apparently she'd kept it, which he took to mean she liked it. The little thing appeared so out of place in the room. That didn't bother D.Va though.

He was still grinning to himself when Lucio tossed him a controller. “So man, you looking forward to the upcoming missions?”

Junkrat took a moment to ground himself, to work out what Lucio was talking about. Memories from the morning snapped back into place and he nodded in vague agreement. “Sure... anytime they actually let me blow shit up without harkin' on about 'collateral' and all is good, yeah?”

“I uh... I meant more along the lines that we'd be on a couple of missions together... I mean, we've been in the field together before, but usually not all three of us, you know? I thought it might be nice.”

Junkrat snickered. “Make it sound like ya think we'd be takin' a picnic together. Figure we should be a might preoccupied for that.”

“What? Not even barbecue?” D.Va said, raising a hand to her mouth in mock horror.

“Well... maybe,” Junkrat offered, ever the generous one. “Ya fond of charred Talon agents?”

“Awww, my favorite. How did you know?”

Lucio was not as delighted with this. He pulled a face, lifting a finger as if to stop them there. “Firstly, gross, secondly, why do you two have to be like this? I just thought it'd be cool to spend more time together as a team is all... we co-op so well I guess I pictured actual missions to be a breeze if we got put on the same one... I mean, with this team, would we do great or what?”

“ _Lucio_ ,” D.Va crooned, leaning off her bed so she could wrap her arms around him in a hug. She almost fell off in the process and the angle looked uncomfortable but she didn't seem to mind, and Lucio just laughed, not bothering to push her away. “We love you too you idiot, but we're not going to bond any more by shooting people together. Besides, I don't want to have to waste my time saving you two losers every three seconds.”

“Hey, I do _not_ need saving every three seconds,” Lucio said, shoving her off affectionately.

D.Va settled herself back down on the bed, looking thoroughly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. And I bet Junkrat here doesn't either, totally doesn't get himself into stupidly dangerous situations in the blink of an eye.”

“ 'S a talent. Why do ya think I keep Roadie around?” Junkrat proclaimed, grinning in his usual way. “Ain't so risky when he's there ta bail me out, best bodyguard a guy could wish for.”

“Hear that Lucio? Maybe you should look at investing.”

“Okay, okay, enough! I thought we were playing video games?”

“Oh alright,” she relented, finally getting around to navigating the menu screen to set up a new match. “Rat, what do you think? Can I set the difficulty higher?”

“Depends if ya wanna hear me yellin' bloody murder or not, ya know I ain't exactly level headed,” he said, spinning aimlessly on the swivel chair while he waited. “Got one of them brains, ya know, what says what it thinks when it's in the mood.”

“Mostly terrible puns,” Lucio said.

Junkrat shot him a look, sticking his pegleg out to stop his momentum. “Oi, me puns are splendid thank you very much.”

“There's no such thing as a good pun, man, take it from me.”

“Ya just jealous.”

“Dude, we're talking about puns.”

“Ain't my fault ya jelly mate,” he said, puffing himself up with exaggerated self importance and laying a hand across his chest, “gotta work on ya word skills to match a master like meself.”

Lucio couldn't seem to keep his expression exasperated, he cracked up every time he got a look at Junkrat's face, a thing Junkrat only encouraged by waggling his eyebrows. They were both well on the way to a giggle fit when D.Va interrupted.

“Not to bother you guys, but you'll die in about ten seconds if you don't look at the screen.”

This prompted a squark of alarm from Junkrat as he fumbled with his controller. D.Va, merciless as always, had started the game already. She ignored all of Lucio and Junkrat's spluttered protests, kindly suggesting that they 'get good', but no matter how loudly they argued their smiles betrayed them all. Teasing like this had become the norm. Junkrat loved nothing better... well, except maybe explosives.

It confused him a little on occasion, that time spent with the other two felt genuinely good, but he thought he understood why he'd felt such a pull here in the first place, what Overwatch really offered. Changing the world meant nothing to Junkrat, but finding a place to stay, people who genuinely smiled back at him, who let him join in, made him feel like what he did mattered. 

It was nothing like the thrill of chaos and destruction, it was a pleasure that felt softer, safer... sometimes it was enough to make him panic because he didn't know what to do with it. At times he remembered the old desperate, selfish way of life and he felt as if he were being smothered by their presence, by their expectations, but that fear was dwarfed by the though that maybe he could lose this... he would burn the world down to keep it. No exaggeration.

They had just about settled down into the usual rhythm and chatter of the match when a knock sounded at the door. Junkrat froze in an instant.

Games nights usually meant they were alone. Tracer visited them occasionally to join in, though she rarely stayed long, always zipping off on some errand or other, but she never knocked. This was different. He didn't know who this might be. It was not a situation he could predict and Junkrat felt that familiar kick of adrenaline as he swiveled to face the door, tense but uncertain.

 _Not a threat_ , he told himself sternly, _threats don't knock first_. He still watched with suspicion as the door was pushed open. It moved slowly, inch by inch. He'd forgotten the game entirely by the time it swung wide, the controller clenched tight in one hand more for the need to hold something than any intention of playing.

Standing in the doorway was none other than Symmetra. He stared, bafflement turning his customary grin lopsided and uneasy, and for the life of him he wasn't sure how to react. Junkrat had never thought to see her here. Symmetra was a true creature of habit, she stuck to routines with a unique kind of stubbornness, breaking them only out of necessity. Yet there she was, back straight and head held high as if she had every right to intrude. Her presence seemed out of place, unnatural, and perhaps she sensed it too because her hands were clasped tighter than usual.

“Symmetra?” he said, the name hovering in the air, voicing his own confusion as much as questioning her arrival.

Lucio was far more blunt. “What are you doing here?”

There was a note to that tone Junkrat had never expected to hear from the DJ. His head turned, eyes flickering over Lucio as he tried to quickly assess him. He was right. _Hostility_. Why? Lucio smiled at everyone, forgave even his own stupid blunders, didn't have a mean bone in his body by Junkrat's reckoning, but there was no hiding the way he look at Symmetra.

This was very quickly beginning to feel like a confrontation. Junkrat shuffled on his seat, fighting the urge to rise. Knowing where you stood in a matter like that was important, but not matter how many glances he shot at each of them he couldn't work out what this was about.

After pausing a moment to digest Lucio's question Symmetra spoke. “Winston was clear this morning that disunity would create an imbalance in the field, one that must be rectified if we are to reach our full potential. I believe there is some... remaining disagreement between us. I have come to attempt to fix the matter.”

“Well,” Lucio said, “we're busy.”

Still Symmetra hovered, not entirely sure how to approach. “I did not mean to intrude-”

“Then don't.” The way he said it made it clear he didn't care what she had to say. Lucio's eyes were narrowed, lips set in a tight line, he looked like another person entirely.

The reality of it finally seemed to hit Symmetra. Carefully, she composed herself. “I can see this is perhaps not the best time. I shall call again at a later date.”

Lucio grit his teeth. “Just go.”

“As you wish. Goodnight.” Abruptly she gave a short nod and turned on her heels, closing the door behind her with a faint click.

Lucio sighed. Irritation still pinched at his features even after she was gone, but it was softer than his earlier hate, the lingering memory.

Junkrat gave a low whistle. “Crikey, what was all that about then, ey?”

“I can't believe she came here,” he said, as if he hadn't heard. He sunk low in his beanbag, arms wrapped tightly around himself like he was trying to contain something. “I mean, can you _believe_ it?”

“I ain't sure, mate,” Junkrat said, scratching at the back of his neck, seeking to find some way to occupy himself while he put things together. There was a puzzle here, a story he didn't have the words for, a blind side that left him oddly vulnerable. He didn't know quite what he was stepping into, or if he wanted any part of it. “Feel a bit in the dark here. Ya got a problem with her?”

With exaggerated stealth D.Va lent toward Junkrat, catching his eye. “It's a Vishkar thing,” she whispered as if that explained it.

He twirled his wrist in a desperate gesture to elaborate but she pursed her lips, glancing at Lucio like she was unsure she should be speaking. Lucio did the job for her though.

“Vishkar tried to destroy my home,” he told Junkrat plainly. “She was a part of that.”

“Who? _Symmetra_?” he asked, torn between disbelief and laughter at the very idea.

Lucio was definitely not in the mood for laughing. “Yeah dude, _Symmetra_. Goes on and on about everything in it's rightful place, but you know she means _people_ too? Thinks it's okay to just tear everything apart to make it how _she_ wants, doesn't care about everyone else. Her and Vishka are the same. I want nothing to do with either of them.”

Maybe Junkrat should have just shut up. Should have just left it there. But he was used to speaking his mind here, to saying what he wanted because Lucio and D.Va let him get away with it.

He was sure, so sure, that this was a mistake. Lucio's description and his own experience with Symmetra did not align, and he had to do something, right? He didn't even really understand why he felt the need to speak but somehow letting things stand seemed wrong. It was the same feeling that pressed him to yell out when anyone insulted Hog's weight, a sudden niggling desire to act he'd never been able to articulate. He drew a breath, fingers tapping at the edge of his seat.

“...Nah mate,” he said, confidence growing. “Can't speak for them Vishkar pricks, suits can't be trusted, but Symmetra ain't all that bad. Sure she's a bit of a stick in the mud but she don't mean no harm. Works for Overwatch now, anyways. Figure if she loved Vishka all that much she'd still be with them, eh?”

He smiled, but Lucio's reaction was not promising. He sat too still, expression forcibly blank, eyes carrying none of their usual sparkle. Junkrat felt a sinking in his chest.

“Don't make me argue with you man,” Lucio said. “I don't want to do that.”

He didn't like the way he spoke. Didn't like the way his gaze struck him as a challenge. Junkrat gnawed his lip, focus darting to D.Va who was shooting him a warning look. “Yeah... okay. Forget it.”

This seemed to be enough for Lucio. Yet the silence hanging in the air ran too long, left Junkrat shuffling about, suddenly uncomfortable in a place he'd become so familiar with. Part of him wanted to just leave then and there, but part of him was convinced that if he did it would somehow make things worse. He struggled for things to say, to do, to fix, for a way to neatly slot the pieces back together and carry on like nothing happened. He ran circles in his own head but found nothing, and his gaze kept wandering back to Lucio, slumped and strangely somber on his beanbag.

“Well,” D.Va said brightly, “the bad news is that while all that went down you both died. But on the bright side I discovered a new mode. They call it a Hyper mode. Basically it's the same game but at double the speed, and _I_ just unlocked it for us. What do you say? Are you ready to die again... _twice_ as fast?”

D.Va tried, he commended her for it, but the night was a bloody wreck. The cheer had bled away and every exchange felt forced, every smile hollow and the more he thought about it the more Junkrat could not shake the certainty that this was, once again, his fault.

Jamison Fawkes, king of all fuck ups. He didn't even have the energy to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to captaindeadeye for doing a bit of proof reading on this chapter, and also the random anon who followed me to tumblr to complement me. You're sweet ^_^  
> Anyways, I feel so-so about this chapter, it didn't come out quite how I wanted it to but I think it's best to just keep moving forward. Cheers for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

Whatever mood had consumed Lucio the night before, it seemed to have run its course by the next day. He grabbed his morning coffee with his usual cheer, making small talk with the other early risers. Junkrat remained suspicious.

If Symmetra had set him off once before then it could easily happen again. He hadn't decided what he wanted to do about that. Hell, he didn't know if he ought to do anything at all, it was exactly the sort of problem he'd stir up by sticking his foot in his mouth. Social subtleties were... not his strong point.

In the outback, when two folk had beef with each other they settled it quick and sensible like with their fists... or a knife in the dark if they were being unsporting. Either way, tensions never stayed high for long. There was no point letting it fester when there was other shit to worry about... people problems just went away, all you had to do was draw a few lines in the sand and carry on... and if folk looked like they were going to genuinely tear each other's throats out then they usually did, and, well, once one of them was dead that sort of fixed the issue.

Point was... point was Overwatch didn't handle things the same way, and neither Lucio or Symmetra seemed the type to resolve their differences in a brawl... and that meant that either it was never going to get better, or maybe... maybe there was another way to fix it that he couldn't wrap his head around.

It was exactly the sort of stupidly frustrating thing that gnawed away at him, got him antsy. He wanted to do something, but he didn't know what, so he just wasted his time thinking about it and then getting pissed off at his own lack of activity. After a day of wrestling with this he decided the only thing to do was put it on the back burner until inspiration struck. That was pretty much his standard approach to planning anyways.

Once Junkrat had come to that conclusion things were easier. When he met up with Lucio and D.Va for games night none of them mentioned Symmetra or her visit, as far as Junkrat could tell they were all very determined to pretend none of it happened which suited him fine. Trouble was, something still felt off, like a prickle under his skin, and he had no clue if anything was different or if it was his imagination. There was only one detail he was certain had changed, and that was that for the first time in weeks the door was kept closed and not slightly ajar. Perhaps that was what kept him on edge...

When he finally turned in he slept fitfully, and when he woke there was someone knocking at his door. The sound was enough to instantly jar him awake. It took him a moment to relax, to remember where he was and remind himself not to reach for his frag launcher like his fingers itched to do.

He stretched, scrubbed at his crusty eyes and instead picked up his prosthetics, starting with the arm while keeping the door in his peripherals. There was a trap set out by it like he always did when he actually bothered to sleep in his own room, not that anyone would be stupid enough not to check the ground at this point, it simply reassured him.

“Oi, what ya want?” he called as he finished slotting the arm on and started on the leg.

“I wish to converse with you, if that is permittable. You... did not visit the workshop yesterday and I could not find you this morning, so I decided to take matters into my own hands, so to speak... please, I would appreciate your input.” Ah. Symmetra. There was no mistaking her voice.

Junkrat snickered. “Probably only time I'm gonna hear that, ay?”

She did not reply immediately. When she did her tone was stern. “This is important.”

He snorted. Of course it would be. She'd never bothered to seek him out before. He had the sneaking suspicion that he knew what this was about, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with it when he still hadn't figured out what he wanted to do.

“How important? Like, important as in ya gonna die if ya don't get it out, or important as in it can wait until I get me some tucker?” he asked as he pulled his shorts on, not bothering with a shirt.

“I would prefer to talk as soon as possible, though it is not a matter of life or death,” she admitted with reluctance.

“Then I'm gonna nip to the kitchen first, grab me a bite to eat,” Junkrat said. “What's that thing you say? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day?”

“It is wise to maintain a balanced diet with meals at regular intervals, though I cannot say I have ever thought to rank them in terms of importance...”

Junkrat disarmed his traps and nudged the door open, finding her standing there with a ponderous expression, as if seriously contemplating the value of one meal over another. She frowned at the sight of him. He thought for a second she was displeased with him, but it wasn't like he was any more of a mess than he usually was, he thought she'd learned to ignore it despite how much disorder bothered her. The fact that he was wrong was mildly insulting.

He flapped a hand at his hair before giving up on the idea entirely, instead squaring his shoulders as if daring her to find a problem. Wasn't his fault he didn't roll out of bed all spick and span. Shit, half his life he'd been lucky to get up without something immediately trying to kill him, could he be blamed for not wasting time sprucing up? Especially when she'd just gone and rudely woken him up in the first damn place.

“You are correct,” she said after a seconds hesitation, looking away, “breakfast is important. If you have any intention of beginning to cultivate healthy eating habits I will not intervene.”

“Uh... right, ta.” He wasn't sure what had just happened, but it seemed to be as close to an apology as he was going to get. Junkrat scratched at the back of his neck, trying to order his words. He didn't exactly want to tell her to piss off until later but he couldn't think of a tactful way to avoid her now she'd gone to the trouble of hunting him down. “Ya got turret work to do or sumthin'?”

“There are always improvements to be made but I have other matters which concern me.”

“Well... sure there's some fiddly stuff ta keep ya occupied, I'll meet ya in the workshop later, yeah?”

She stood still, studying him. After a brief moment she gave a sharp nod, apparently satisfied by whatever she had found and Junkrat felt a quiet twinge of guilt for the relief he felt. “I will expect you promptly.”

“Ace! Wouldn't miss it.” He gave her a mock salute and she finally turned away.

His grin felt more like a grimace and he let it fall. Putting his finger on what was bothering him most was hard, he was half convinced waking up unexpectedly had just put him in a bad mood, but really it was a slow build up of things he didn't like clustering together.

He didn't grab breakfast, if it could even be called breakfast at this point... he suspected it was closer to the afternoon, he'd never kept a regular sleeping pattern... It seemed more important to find Hog. Again, putting his finger on why was difficult, but he suspected it was because Hog was reliable. He never made things complicated, never stuck him in a situation like this. That was reassuring, and crikey, he needed to feel on level ground sometimes.

He found the big lug outside, staring out at the ocean. Roadhog's posture shifted at the distinctive clank of Junkrat's pegleg on the metal walkway and he inclined his head slightly to the side in way of greeting, not turning away from the view.

“Enjoyin' the sunshine, eh? Nice day for it... bit different from Oz... hooley dooley, summer there was a fucking nightmare, if it wasn't tryin' to bake us alive it'd be storms all week, acid rain, dust clouds... used to think that was just the time of year what wanted people dead... course, think the whole place just wanted people dead, took us leaving to twig that weren't the usual state of things in the big wide world... kinda dumb, ain't it? Seeing stuff so peaceful... gets ya thinkin' there has to be somethin' wrong, hiding beneath the surface...” He trailed off, coming to lean on the railing. His metal fingers began to tap. “Always expect it, but it doesn't happen an' maybe that's worse. I mean, I ain't complainin' or anythin' but dealing with that shit was what we were used to, and now it's just... other things... I don't get it mate... should be easier...”

Roadhog grunted. “What's wrong?”

Junkrat brushed the question aside with a wave of his hand. “Nothin', just thinkin' is all... Anyways, what's so interestin' out there, huh? Spot any fishies? Plannin' on swimming? Can ya swim? Never seen it but I reckon you'd float pretty good, not like me, bettin' I'm more of a sinkin' stone type what with arm and leg...”

“You've seen me swim. We went to the beach once.”

“Did we?” he asked, grin dimming as he searched his fuzzy memories for something that could match. Another blank. He shrugged, attempting to bring some of his usual cheer back into his voice as if it didn't matter. “Don't remember... Can't have been that great then I guess...”

“It was nice... we could go again some time...”

“Yeah?” Junkrat wasn't sure if that was a genuine suggestion or just something to make up for the gap in his memory, but he allowed himself to ponder the idea. “Suppose they gotta give us holiday time at some point... always figured we could go to a casino though, sounds like more fun... tempting hit too... I mean, if we still did that sort of thing...”

“Hmmmm.”

He struggled for things to say, for words to fill the silence with. “...wrote up a few plans a couple of days ago. Burnt them, of course, was just bored... but eh, could always save it for retirement. Plenty of other stuff for now...” His fingers tapped quicker. “Been lookin' into fireworks more, think I've got the basics figured... once I get the right materials I'll give it a shot... could set 'em off next time we beat Talon into the ground, like, a celebration thing. Ain't like they have any other use, except maybe to blow off steam...”

“So long as it's not inside.”

“Like everyone's always sayin'...” He gnawed absently at the fingernails of his spare hand. Trouble with making conversation with Hog was that a large part of it was making conversation with himself, the big guy rarely had much to contribute. In most cases that was fine, Junkrat loved to prattle on if someone was listening, but right now he wanted something to pull him away from the mess in his head, and having to dig through it for his next topic was turning out to be a right pain in the arse. He tried a new approach. “So, uh... what's that book you been readin'? Is it good? Whatsit about?”

Roadhog turned away from the view to finally fix Junkrat with the glassy eyes of his mask. He sounded tired. “What's bothering you?”

Junkrat huffed, throwing up his arms in exaggerated frustration. “Nothin', I told ya! Can't I just have a bloody conversation with me own bodyguard?”

He could tell Roadhog was not convinced. In the same way he'd figured out how to tell what the giant was thinking based on his posture or the particular way he chose his scant remarks or grunts, Roadhog knew how to pick apart his anxious ticks. How he did it was beyond Junkrat, but he had an uncanny ability to tell the difference between one of his more excitable or talkative moods and the sort of tangent he went on when something was bothering him. “What is it?”

He ran nervous fingers through his patchy hair, trying to find something to occupy them with.“Shit, look... it's stilly.”

“Rat...”

Finding Roadhog was turning out to be a worse idea than he'd thought. The entire plan was to avoid this, yet here the piggy bastard insisted on picking at that scab. He snarled, but bit out the words anyway. “Alright, fine! Ya just... ya ever get mad cos people are just being stupid but ya know ya can't reason with them cos they'll just be stupid about it? Ya can't threaten 'em and ya can't knock their heads together and ya ain't good with words and ya know whatever ya say they just won't _listen_?”

“I can think of a few instances.”

There was a hint of wry humour in Roadhogs voice which he purposely chose to ignore. “Well it's _stupid!_ ”

Quiet hung in the air while Junkrat fumed, clenching the rail like he could break it. Roadhog watched him patiently while he scowled at the ocean. He refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge the gaze he could feel lingering on his figure.

“You need me to beat some sense into someone?”

“Nah mate,” he said, forcing himself to relax a little despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface, “figure that ain't exactly gonna help. Just lookin' for a distraction...”

“You had lunch?”

He shook his head. “Don't think so.”

“Go have lunch. Worry about the rest later.”

Somehow that was not the right thing to say. Something about the dismissive way he spoke prickled at Junkrat, sparked his temper. He pushed away from the railing, straightening up to his full height so he could turn and glare right into Roadhog's mask. It was stupid, oh so fuckin' stupid, but it felt like a betrayal and he'd already wound himself so tight it was easy to let go.

A small part of his brain was shrieking at him to shut the hell up but Junkrat was beyond caring. “Oh I see how it is, ya had enough of me ruining your peace and quiet, eh? Look, I ain't askin' for a solution here, just thought me best mate might be willin' to keep me company till I get me thoughts in order, but apparently you'd rather lounge in the sun like a bleedin' tourist! Fuck!”

Roadhog sighed. “That's not-”

Junkrat was already working himself up into a frenzy though. He stabbed an accusing finger at him, advancing in a way that would have been intimidating to anyone but the mountain that was Roadhog. “Might as well just tell me to piss off, it'd save ya time. Why ya even still around if ya can't stand me? Ain't like we're rolling in the dosh recently.”

“Don't be an idiot-”

He grit his teeth. Fuck this, fuck Roadhog, fuck everyone, ya couldn't trust them for anything. “I ain't bein' an idiot! I just-”

Roadhog gripped his shoulder with one massive hand and Junkrat immediately tensed. His eyes went wide and wild. Too much adrenaline, he should know by now that Roadhog would never hurt him, no more than he deserved anyways. Why on earth was he in this state? Why hadn't he noticed? When had irritation turned into an all out torrent of fury and panic? He knew his head had never been screwed on quite right and that sometimes he reacted funny, but this? It was pure ridiculous.

Roadhog's voice was slow and rumbling as always. “Stop.”

He latched onto that single word, breathing in carefully, slowing his heart until his pulse wasn't racing in his ears. If he concentrated on that then he could pull himself back together, piece by piece. Slowly but surely things began to make sense again. Junkrat wanted to kick himself in the face, if such a move was possible, but he crushed the idea. All that mattered was here and now. Finally he laughed, well aware of how high pitched and shaky it sounded. “Guess I... still got a bit of a short fuse, sorry to _blow up_ on ya like that.”

Roadhog gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and let him go. He didn't look angry, or at least, Junkrat didn't think he did... sometimes it was difficult to tell. Roadhog's anger wasn't blindingly hot like his own, it was cold and sharp and cruel at times... thankfully it was a rare occasion. As far as Junkrat knew Roadhog's usual emotions ranged from ponderous or darkly amused to grumpy, and that was a reassuring spectrum compared to his own.

Junkrat shuffled on the spot. “Right... didn't mean nothin' by it, just a bit out of sorts, don't know what to do with meself.”

“You'll work it out, you always do.”

“Thanks mate...” It wasn't much, but it helped a little. Maybe if Roadhog seemed unconcerned it was because he saw no reason to fear, he’d dragged himself out of real danger single handedly before hadn’t he? Why should this be any different? He hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “Promise not to be so much of a crazy bastard... least for now...”

Roadhog's grunt suggested he doubted that promise would last long, but he accepted it nonetheless.

“I'll get out of ya hair then, no sense wastin' time, tick tock an' all that...” he said, once it was clear Roadhog wasn't going to add any more. Slowly he began to traipse off, but caught a deep sigh behind him.

“Junkrat?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the hulking figure of Hog. Funny how he seemed silhouetted by the sunshine, like an actual mountain. “Yeah?”

“Make sure you have lunch.”

His grin crept up a little wider, only half forced, and he finger-gunned back. “Got ya, mate, me memories not that bad.”

True to his word, he scavenged the kitchen shortly after. What he really needed though, he decided, was for something to explode. A little wanton destruction was good for the soul. He wanted things to feel right again, and nothing had ever done that better for him. Besides, all his best plans had sprung into being while he was working on what he loved, so it stood to reason that this was as good a time as any to get back to the fun things in life.

He snagged some supplies from his room and in no time was down in the training range, rigging up one of his more experimental designs. He chewed on his lip, humming to himself as he fiddled with the wiring, as deep in concentration as he could ever be.

The thing most people missed about explosions was that although they were chaotic in nature they could be artful… what you got out of them was all about how you set them up, where you set them up, how you timed them… there was so much more to it than people understood. There were still folk that thought him an idiot for playing with fire, but the joke was on them, cos if he was an idiot he’d be dead. He’d learned quickly, and it gave him an edge.

Junkrat almost missed the click of heels on the ground, but instinct kicked in and he found himself looking up without really knowing why, gaze flicking about for the source of his distraction.

Symmetra walked with purpose. Each stride was set in hard rhythm, no pause, no wasted movement. She descended upon him so fast he barely had time to draw himself back into the present moment and put two and two together.

His grin was more manic than friendly as he hastily shoved his work aside and scrambled to his feet... or, well, foot. “G'day.”

She looked him up and down, as if assessing him in one quick sweep of her eyes. “I thought I made it clear I had matters I urgently wished to discuss with you,” she said, arms folded across her chest.

“Eh,” Junkrat began, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly, “may have got meself distracted.”

“So I see.” The pause was deliberate, he was certain of it, long enough to let him stew in his own mistake. When she spoke again it was softer, with the weight of what he could only call disappointment. “I told you it was important.”

“Ya know,” he said cheerily, tapping at the side of his head, “memories... eh... not what it ought to be... slipped me mind is all, no harm intended.”

“Hmmm.” He couldn't tell if she believed him. Symmetra was one of the harder people to read, if only because she was so careful in every move or expression she made. He thought he was getting the hang of it but at times like these he was reminded how hard it could be when she wanted it that way. “Well, I suppose you can spare a moment now?”

He could see no way to dodge this, no way to run. Resigning himself to the inevitable Junkrat nodded. “Sure. Fire away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while, having trouble keeping on top of things...  
> Anyways, I think Junkrat's not used to worrying about people and it puts him under stress he really has no idea how to deal with. What the hell are you supposed to do when friends hate each other and you feel like you're stuck in the middle? Don't want to piss anyone off or pick sides but it doesn't feel like the matter's going to go away either... it sucks.  
> Sorry for any errors, no editing this time.  
> Oh, and I've got a little bit of Junkrat fanart over on my tumblr now if anyone's curious (spectre-draws).


	8. Chapter 8

Junkrat always appreciated people who were down to earth, so he supposed at the very least he should be thankful that Symmetra didn't waste time dancing around the subject. As soon as she was sure she had his attention, or as much as she was likely to ever get, she launched right in.

“Winston made a valid point at the end of the last briefing, and as such I wish to rectify any remaining issues between myself and Lucio... however, he seems... unreceptive to my attempts.”

“Well that's one way of puttin' it...” Junkrat said dryly, stooping to pick up his detonator. He toyed with it, flicking the safety back and forth with his thumb while he spoke, keeping his hands occupied. “He was as mad as a cut snake when ya barged in, never seen him like that before... never really thought he _could_ be like that, ya know? Reckon if he was easy to tick off he'd have thrown a few more choice words me way, I have that effect on people...”

“I suspect it is a result of Vishkar's presence in the favelas of Rio, he clearly does not approve of my association with them...” she said slowly, clearly weighing the problem.

He didn't understand how she stood so still while she talked, arms folded and body held as if carved from stone. His own legs itched to move, to pace, to do anything other than just stand here like a perfect target. Focusing on his hands helped, but could not cure his restlessness entirely. No, he needed to think, to answer her... he chewed at his lip, trying his best. “Way he puts it Vishkar waltzed in and tried to tear his home down... I'd understand bein' a bit pissed at 'em.”

Junkrat's eyes flicked up, ready to gauge her reaction but Symmetra seemed distracted, she was watching the detonator with a cautious expression. His fingers twitched over the trigger like they usually did, a reflective motion he'd never managed to cure himself of. It must have genuinely concerned her because she ignored her earlier trail of thought, instead asking him, “That's not... live, is it?”

“What? This?” Junkrat said, glancing down at the detonator as if only just realizing he held it. “Nah. Ain't hooked up to anything... not yet, anyways.”

“I see...” She shook herself, finding her place again like nothing had occurred. “As I was saying his thoughts on Vishkar are irrelevant, the problem is his inability to work with me. You appear to have ingrained yourself with him, so I was hopeful that you might have some insight, perhaps you know how I could reason with him...”

Junkrat scowled. “The hell would I know?”

“I was hoping-”

“Look,” Junkrat said, holding up his hands to stall her, “ya know I'd help if had any idea how but I ain't got a bleedin' clue. Vishkar fucked with his home and he thinks ya were a part of that, not somethin' he's just gonna roll over an' forget.”

“I was a part of it, I suppose,” she admitted, “though I was only doing what I thought was right at the time. We were making a better world, a brighter future... you understand, don't you?”

Junkrat shifted his weight, boot tapping on the ground as he mulled it over. “Eh... can't exactly relate but... I know ya ain't heartless if that's what ya mean... ya always listen when I drop by, don't act like I'm crazy, never tell me to piss off or... have a convenient thing ya have to go do like half the others.” He giggled to himself. “They think I don't pick up on that. Point is it's not like I agree with him but I can't just tell him ta go easy on ya, he won't bite. I can't help.”

She pursed her lips for a moment, standing in quiet thought. Eventually she said, “It concerns you that if you side with me then Lucio may no longer wish to be friends with you.”

“Bleedin' hell! That ain't what I'm tryin' to say here...” he snapped, attempting to fight down the frustration that was threatening to bubble forth. He'd already yelled at Roadie today, he didn't need to start making a habit of it. Shit. Junkrat took a deep breath and tried again, a little calmer. “What I'm sayin' is he doesn't really know ya, he just knows Vishkar and what they've done... sees you as just an extension of that, some Sheila what keeps to herself and shoots snooty looks at people... no offense meant. I can't fix that for ya, I dunno what you want me to do.”

“So the problem is that he has not had ample opportunity to form an opinion on me as a person... yet that is difficult to correct when he turns me away every time I attempt to start a conversation.”

“Like I said, I dunno what ya want me to do... I ain't really equipped for it.” He lifted his arms again helplessly, willing her to understand his position. It didn't help that he could see how much she wanted him to do something, to step in and fix things for her... and damn it, he really felt like he ought to do something... but he couldn't see a solution for the life of him. And really, none of this should matter, and he shouldn't care... but Junkrat knew with a sinking feeling that it would be very hard to truly convince himself of that ever again. 

Overwatch was messing with his head. Feeling like this would have gotten him killed five years ago. That thought alone could have made him panic but he silenced it - after all Roadhog had proven that some people could be trusted and nothing bad had happened so far... the trouble was he still had no idea what he was doing, and that was precisely the sort of situation his instincts screamed at him to get out of. If you got in over your head you died... or, well, he would have...

Junkrat liked it here. Or at least he thought he did. He liked actually getting to talk to people for no particular reason and knowing they wouldn't disappear the next day, getting to tease a smile out of them with a poorly timed pun, joining in card games he didn't know the rules to or competing for the most unlikely story when people started boasting. He liked getting to blow stuff up and get paid for it, plus having all the materials he could wish for at his disposal. He liked Hana and Lucio. He liked games nights, and those small moments when he thought that maybe he mattered to someone other than himself...

But fear clung like dirt to his boot, and no matter how hard he scrubbed it wouldn't come free. Junkrat felt torn. He wanted to fit. He thought he was getting better at it, but every time things started to look a little bit out of place that old anxiety began to niggle at him, whispering that this was dangerous, that he should get away... and hell, he knew it was mostly irrational at this point, he _knew_ , he wasn't quite as crazy as some people thought... a twitchy, unpredictable mess certainly, but not crazy... Instincts were born for a reason and he couldn't just overrule them with a snap of his fingers. He had a hard enough time just convincing himself that everyone wasn't looking for a way to turn on him the moment he glanced away. 

Worse yet, worse than the deep set fear that this was all some intricate trick he'd been too stupid to recognize, he was terrified of losing everything he'd gained here because of his own bloody ignorance.

Junkrat liked Overwatch... but damn if it wasn’t stressful. He'd spent the better part of twenty-five years learning to survive the Australian outback, yet this was a different world.

Maybe she got it. He thought she knew a little of what it was like when you didn't quite fit, when things wouldn't align the way you wanted them and not everyone picked up on what made you tick... wasn't quite the same, but perhaps.

Symmetra, at least, seemed partially satisfied by his claim whether she understood the depth of it or not. She nodded, accepting his words. “Well, it is something for me to think on. I... apologize.” She tipped her head to the side, considering him momentarily. “This appears to be difficult for you, I did not anticipate it would concern you so much. I only thought you might have information that could help me.”

Junkrat shrugged, a rough gesture than did nothing to deflect her piercing gaze. “No worries, ya don't gotta fret about me. It's just a pain not knowin' what to do, ya get me? Heh, figure ya probably do since ya botherin' to ask about it... don't like not knowing what to do, kinda like a havin' a blind side. Always better to be one step ahead, otherwise it's like...”

He paused, brows knit together in a frown as he tried to find a way to articulate his thought. Coming to a decision he held up the detonator for her to see. “Otherwise it's like walkin' through a minefield while some other bloke's got his finger on the trigger, and ya never know when he'll just... blow it all to hell.”

He pressed the trigger and Symmetra flinched. Nothing happened, and after a seconds silence he cackled, shooting her a sharp toothed grin. His tone was scornful. “Told ya it weren't hooked up to nothing.”

“Yes, well... forgive me if I've found your memory a little unreliable of late,” she retorted, calmly smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her dress.

He rolled his amber eyes. He should know by now she wasn't fond of such teasing, he'd simply been unable to resist, still a little... trigger happy. Junkrat laughed again, catching himself at the last second so the sound was cut abruptly short as he held it in, shaking a little from the strain. This was supposed to be a serious conversation, wasn't it? He was pretty sure that's what Symmetra had wanted, the least he could do was pull himself together until she was done. It couldn't be much longer could it?

As if she had read his mind she finally broke into motion, her arms falling to her sides. She sighed. “I suppose for both our sakes I had best work on an answer to this... I will admit, people are not my strong suit but there is always a solution... perhaps there will be much trial and error, but that is all part of the process... no design ever began perfect.”

“Wish I had ya confidence,” he said, “act like this is just another thing to tinker with in the workshop.”

She did not seem sure how to respond to that. Eventually she nodded, and he thought he caught a tinge of shame or perhaps embarrassment on her face, it was too quick for him to really process. “I suspect you may have more invested in this than I, and I am sorry for not seeing that sooner... I do not expect Lucio to ever wish to be my friend, I do not really expect anyone to wish to be my friend, all I desire is that he allows me the chance to work alongside him and the level of tolerance and respect due to every peer.”

He didn't like the way she sounded, the resignation in her words. Junkrat coughed. “Don't sell yerself short there, ya never know, he could take a shine to ya. Haven't even introduced him to your stunnin' sense of humor yet.”

Symmetra frowned. “But you were just saying... I don't...” she began before catching sight of his teasing grin. She sighed again in exasperation, but her lips twitched upward slightly, the closest thing he could get to a smile from her. “You are quite terrible sometimes.”

“Terribly brilliant is the term ya lookin' for I think,” he said, puffing out his chest self-importantly. “I got an international reputation an' everything.”

“As a criminal.”

“As a terribly brilliant criminal.”

“A criminal none the less,” she repeated, and although her tone was clipped it was at least more self assured. She turned to go, then froze mid-step as if she had forgotten something. “Jamison...” she added, “thank you.”

He waved her off carelessly, already settling back down in the nest of wires and chemicals he had lying on the ground. This, at least, was something he was familiar with. “Go an' scheme already, I won't keep ya.”

___

Whatever Symmetra was planning he didn't see her again which he was silently grateful for, it allowed him to distract himself, to once again shelve the problem for later.

The rest of the day passed in a haze as it often did. His experimentations drew the attention of Soldier Seventy-six, who professed only mild concern that he was going to destroy the entire complex. After reluctantly weakening their potency under supervision Junkrat soon lost interest. 

He remembered, vaguely, persuading the cowboy to help him tamper with Soldier's favorite brand of coffee as a way of retribution, a task the man had seemed all too happy to join in with... he mentioned something about a proposed smoking ban, Junkrat forgot the rest of his reasoning.

He was also pretty sure he'd talked to Reinhardt about a custom paint job for his armor, which the knight had appeared intrigued by, but Brigitte had chased him off before they could concoct any plans together.

At some point he paused to make some basic ammunition for when he might need it next, but he wasn't sure where the rest of the time had gone.

“Can't stay up late tonight, mission tomorrow,” Lucio warned while D.va flicked through her games collection to find something to play.

“Well we _could_ still stay up late,” she said.

“Yeah, but like, _responsibility_.”

D.Va pulled a face. “Boring. What about you Rat?”

He shrugged, still spinning slow circles in his chair while he waited. “Ain't like I haven't skipped a nights sleep before, never did me any harm.” He frowned. “Well, not a lot anyways.”

“That's the spirit. See Lucio, who needs sleep when you have caffeine?”

“Normal people,” he muttered.

Junkrat snickered to himself. “Guess that rules some of us out then.”

“Normal people are scrubs,” D.Va assured him, “we're better than that.” She finally settled on a game and turned her attention back to Lucio, shooting an exaggerated pout his way. “Come on Lucio, be like us, stay up with the cool kids.”

“Man, hasn't anyone ever told you peer pressure is wrong?”

Junkrat stopped his absentminded spinning. “We ain't pressuring ya mate, just suggestin' is all... forcefully suggestin'.”

“Pretty please?” D.Va fluttered her eyelashes. Junkrat fluttered his eyelashes too.

Lucio's held his hands up in surrender, finally cracking a smile. “Alright, alright... but not too late, okay guys? I mean, this is a proper mission we're talking about, seriously.”

“Eh, it'll be nice to get out again and destroy some shit, but the way I see it this ain't anythin' new, _I_ could shoot with me eyes closed if I wanted.”

“Isn't that what you normally do?” D.Va said playfully, reaching across the floor to grab another can of soda. She'd set up a neat little stash near the bed where she normally kept snacks and had already made a dent in the pile.

He folded his arms and stuck his chin out in defiance. “Oi, just cos I ain't lookin' at em doesn't mean I don't know where people are. I know where I'm shootin' at.”

“Intuition, right?” Lucio said.

“Somethin' like that.”

“He means luck,” D.Va told him, popping the tab on her drink while she set the match up with her other hand.

Junkrat opened his mouth to retort but Lucio beat him to it. “Does it matter if it works?”

“Exactly! See, if it ain't broke, don't fix it, that's what I say... ain't my problem ya don't understand the finer points of prediction.”

“I don't need hacks.”

“That's right, all _you_ need is Mountain Dew and ego,” Lucio said.

She giggled, looking almost pleased at the suggestion. “Awww, you know me too well. You want a can?”

She tossed one to each of them and left them struggling to work out how to play and drink at the same time, a trick she seemed to have mastered. To Junkrat it seemed a question of what he valued more, his video game life or sugar, and frankly that was an easy question. While he would have preferred bubble tea there was something to be said for soda. 

Carbonated drinks weren't exactly common in the outback, first time he'd tried one he hadn't known what to make of it. Then, true to his usual habits, he'd binged on every can he'd found and practically passed out from the caffeine and sugar intake which turned his constant jittery nature into a waking nightmare. Needless to say Roadhog had not been impressed. Since then he'd kept a watchful eye on what Junkrat drank, or ate for that matter, though Junkrat suspected it was just to save himself from dealing with the aftermath. He'd made himself sick more than once when the sudden availability of everything overwhelmed him.

By the time he'd finished the can he'd already gotten his character killed a dozen times and Lucio wasn't doing much better, only D.Va seemed to be getting anywhere, a fact she repeatedly reminded them of. Giving up on the objective him and Lucio quickly made their own competition, trying to beat one another to the highest death count. They were laughing too hard to listen to any of D.Va's complaints. Junkrat was well on the way to victory when she finally gave in with a groan, moaning about her 'K/D ratio' and proceeding to stomp them at their own stupid game.

“You know we still win,” Lucio told him brightly, “cos now she's got herself killed more than 'us scrubs'.”

She let out a spluttered protest. “No, that's not how it works-”

“Come on Hana, admit it, you fell into that one.”

“I admit nothing!”

“Salty,” Junkrat muttered and Lucio doubled over with laughter, slapping his own knee in delight.

D.Va scowled. “I regret teaching you words,” she said eventually, and Lucio only laughed harder.

“Can't ya let us have this one? Ya win enough as it is, be fair.”

She didn't look convinced. Her legs flopped limply behind her where she sprawled on the bed in her customary spot, chin resting on her arms and lips pursed tightly as if she had tasted something sour. Then she rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine! You win this time. But _only_ because I like you two idiots.”

“Can't believe my ears! Hana song admits defeat!” Lucio crowed. “The world is at an end.”

She threw a pillow at him. “It will be if you keep at it. You and Rat are as bad as each other.”

“I beg yer pardon, I'm in a league of my own thank ya very much, got a reputation to uphold. Can't go gettin' associated with mister goody-two-shoes here.”

Lucio shook his head. “Dude, I think it's the other way around. Can you believe what people would think, popular DJ and gaming superstar hanging out with a wanted criminal? Got scandal written all over it.”

Junkrat's grin waned. He forgot, sometimes, that D.Va and Lucio weren't just regular people, they were what the world branded 'famous', and not his kind of famous either, the kind that had fans. Their existence didn't end at the walls of the room, it was extended across screens, up on posters, T-shirts, downloaded to phones, blasted across the news... He shifted in his seat, drawing up his peg leg so that he could scratch at the orange paint of the kneecap with restless fingers. He watched them both closely. “That don't bother ya?”

Lucio looked genuinely surprised and he hurriedly waved away the suggestion. “What? Course not man, the way I see it working for Overwatch means you're making up for any crap you've done. Besides, it's not like I'd go bragging about it to my followers. You said there's people who might be looking for you, right? Wouldn't want to break your cover... or Overwatch's cover either... guess none of us are really on the right side of the law right now what with the Petras act, huh?”

“So we're all criminals?” D.Va asked.

“Well... technically I guess?”

“Neat.”

Junkrat let out a high pitched giggle. Something about the careless way she said it was hilarious, at least to his own bizarre sense of humor. “Nah, ya dreamin', real crime takes hard work. Trust me, _I'm_ an expert.”

“You saying Overwatch isn't hard work?” Lucio demanded, though his smile suggested he wasn't offended.

Junkrat made a noncommittal gesture, slouching further back in his chair. “Eh, missions ain't no challenge if that's what ya mean, haven't even lost another limb yet.”

“Well we'll see if you're still so confident tomorrow, yeah?” Lucio said. He stuck his arms out, giving a quick stretch before heaving himself up. “Speaking of which I should probably go catch some sleep, need to be ready to keep you both alive... _that's_ gonna be a hard work.”

Junkrat winked. “Gotta keep ya on ya toes mate.”

“Oh boy do you. At least try not to shoot yourself this time?”

“Oi, that was a tactical decision, had no choice in the matter.”

Lucio's expression radiated skepticism. “Sure thing dude. Don't stay up too late.”

“Yes _mum_ ,” D.Va said and they both waved him off with various half-hearted promises. How much longer Junkrat stayed up he wasn't sure, but he suspected it was the early hours before he quit.

Symmetra's appearance last morning was enough to reaffirm his suspicions that his room was not a safe place to sleep. Instead he chose to settle down in one of his favorite spots in the outer portion of the base where a lot of the old vehicles were stored, most of them in disrepair. It smelt like oil and rust but that was familiar to Junkrat, comforting almost. It felt normal, far more than the clean, chemical scent that seemed to linger in the better used parts of HQ. With his traps laid out he could rest as easy as he ever did.

___

He recognized the heavy tread of footsteps even as he snapped awake what seemed like only moments later. In the dull gloom of the room it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. He must have caught at least a bit of sleep because his eyes didn't sting and there was no buzzing in his skull besides the usual background ringing of his ears.

Junkrat reached immediately for his arm, slotting it into place and doing up the straps with practiced fingers while he watched Roadhog's approach. “A little to the left mate, don't wanna step in somethin' nasty.”

Roadhog paused, checked the ground, and readjusted his path. “Get up, need to be leaving soon.”

“What do ya think I'm doin', eh? No need to rush me, we got time.”

“Thirty minutes. Took a bit to find you,” he said in a tone that sounded almost accusatory.

“See, what'd I tell ya? Plenty of time,” Junkrat said with a grin, dragging his peg leg over so he could attach it. It was quicker work than the arm when he had two hands to use.

Roadhog sighed.

“Come on now Roadie, gotta learn a bit of patience, ya know I take some assembly. Ain't like you to be in a rush anyways, they tell ya to drag me in? Bet it was Soldier weren't it? Bloke ain't even on the mission and he won't get off me case, bloody drongo.”

“It was Lucio.”

That stalled him. “Huh,” Junkrat said, an eyebrow quirked up in mild surprise. “Well... guess he is a worrier.”

Roadhog made no response, waiting silently while Junkrat worked. He finally finished with his leg and lurched upward, slinging his blanket over his shoulders like a cape. “Just let me grab my shit okay? Only take a tick, then it's onwards to _adventure!_ ”

As usual his high spirits did nothing to encourage his partner. Roadhog was just plain unmovable at times, and Junkrat supposed that was as good as it was bad. The guy was reliable, solid, exactly what Junkrat wasn't... sometimes it was precisely what he needed but he would have liked to see a little enthusiasm now and again. As it was all Roadhog did was grumble. “Just don't forget anything.”

“Oh rack off, I got it covered mate,” Junkrat said without venom, already disarming and collecting the traps he'd set out. “Have a little faith. Since when have _I_ forgotten to bring stuff on a mission, eh? Ain't any fun without the usual goodies... be like ya leaving your hook behind, be damn next ta useless... I'm joking mate, _joking_ , no need to look at me like that. Ya always play ya part, plenty lethal with that old gun of yours too, makes for one mean bodyguard. We'll be raining havoc soon enough, the old hook-an-cook, right Hoggy? Bastards don't stand a chance.”

“I'm not going.”

Junkrat paused. He cocked his head to the side, looking at Roadhog with a bemused expression as he bent to dismantle his last trap. “Ya wot?”

“I said I'm not going.”

He laughed, flapping a hand as if to wave off the very notion. “Nah, don't be daft ya pig, course you're coming along, ya always do.”

“Not this time.”

A twinge of uncertainty hit Junkrat somewhere in the pit of his stomach. His smile felt strained, teeth clenched tighter than they should be. “I don't get it.”

Roadhog let out a wheezing breath. His manner seemed strangely frustrated, a little of his usual tolerance worn thin. He grunted, then made another attempt. “Trying to tell you I'm staying here while you're on your mission.”

“But... that ain't how it works... we go together mate, thick as thieves, yeah? Ya watch my back I watch yours, we're a team. Always stick together, every mission, that was the deal when we signed up... since we went fifty-fifty,” he trailed off, acutely aware of the way Roadhog stood, a way that told him instantaneously that this was no joke, no false alarm or empty threat designed to bully him into something. His voice felt oddly weak. “What'd I do?”

Roadhog huffed. His gruff tone shifted to something slightly softer. “Not my choice, reassigned.”

“No no no no,” Junkrat said quickly, pacing with waspish agitation while he struggled to order his thoughts. Roadhog had to go with him. Roadhog _always_ went with him. The giant was the only reason he'd survived years with half of Oz gunning for his treasure, the only reason he'd ever learned some capacity to relax, the only other person that could ever truly be relied upon. The closest thing to safety he'd ever understood. 

He knew how to scrape by, he'd done that, but Roadhog made his life less an act of desperation and let him focus on living. He didn't care who else was there, there was no one else he wanted watching his back. “This ain't right. The fuck they reassign ya for? They know, they know how it's supposed to go. Ain't bloody right! What're they up to, huh? Soldier and that monkey, they've got it out for us, I told ya but ya didn't believe me... they got something planned, have to...”

Roadhog reached out to try and stop him in his tracks but Junkrat dodged the hand easily, still pacing circles with no real idea where he was going.

Roadhog observed him. He made no further attempts to halt his movements but instead waited until his eyes flickered over in his direction before shrugging. “Just said they had a better fit for the mission, didn't need me is all.”

“Bleedin' likely... who is it, eh? Who'd they thinks better than ya?” he seethed, fists clenched until the nails of his remaining hand bit hard into his skin. He hardly felt the pain, it was a distant sensation like the faint scrape of metal on metal from his right as his prosthetic fingers curled tighter, straining against their limitations.

For a few seconds it seemed as if the big lug wasn't going to respond. Then, apparently reaching a decision, he answered. “Satya.”

“Who?”

Roadhog gave a tired sigh. “Symmetra.”

Everything seemed to grind to a halt. Junkrat remained frozen, flashing through every one of his mistakes while static screamed in the background and he fought back the urge to tear at his own hair. He'd done this. Betrayed himself without even realizing. He wasn't sure how but he was certain this wasn't a coincidence, now he was facing the consequences, the sudden shift in a paradigm he'd grown use to, that safety net now torn aside. He didn't want this, he didn't want any of this... but it was too late. Why did she have to go make a mess of things? Why had he _let_ her?

His brain was working in overdrive, but all Junkrat could think to say was, “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like maybe I repeat myself at times so sorry for that. Also if you spot any typos or mistakes feel free to point them out, I know I'm bound to have missed something.  
> Anyways, I hope you're still enjoying this, I tried my best to fit what I felt was needed in this chapter without making it too long. At least Junkrat isn't the only one to mess up this time.  
> Also I have a one-shot thing I can't post until later because of spoilers, but eh, we'll see if we get there. Thanks for reading ^_^


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly just want to give a big thanks to everyone who's commented so far, it always makes me super happy to hear what you guys think and I want you to know how much I appreciate that!
> 
> Secondly, I don't have a beta reader or editor/proofreader or whatever you'd call them, and I'm getting pretty anxious about how many mistakes there probably are in this, so... I guess what I'm saying is that if anyone has any interest in doing something like that then maybe give me a shout? Cheers. ^_^

Junkrat wanted to run in several directions at once, which ultimately resulted with him jittering on the spot while he desperately tried to order his plans into some kind of linear action.

Roadhog seemed pretty determined to march him off to the drop ship but he knew for a fact that _wasn't_ happening. He needed to do something, to... mend things, somehow... damn it, he still had no clue what he was doing, everything got tangled these days. He tried to focus.

“Who allocates missions and whatnot?” Junkrat demanded, as much to himself as Roadhog. He wrung his hands together, tipping his head to stare back at the blank pig mask. “Who? The monkey?”

“Far as I know Winston writes the mission briefs but it's commander Morrison who allocates agents...” Roadhog took in his vacant expression, and after a brief hesitation decided to humor him. “Soldier Seventy-Six.”

Junkrat grimaced. “That prick? Figures... better go pay him a visit I reckon.”

“ _Rat_ ,” Roadhog growled out in warning, body shifting as if to block his path. Junkrat stared at him with wide, innocent eyes, grinning his most disarming grin, though the faint twitches that still plagued his fingers were enough to show he was a long way from calm. They kept dancing about like living creatures beyond his control. If he'd thought about it he might have jammed them into his pockets but he was distracted, still running through the possibilities in his head on a string of endless tangents.

“What? Just need a friendly chat is all, set a few things straight, no murder or nothin', I swear it,” he said rapidly, drawing a neat little cross over where he figured his heart probably was.

Roadhog grumbled.

“Alright! No explosions neither, I'll behave... just... gonna use me natural charm I guess, heh, there's a reason _I'm_ the negotiator... just plonk ya lard ass down an' wait a tick, I'll get this sorted... it'll be a fine... it'll be all good... you'll see, I'll be right back... an' everythin' will be like it should...”

“You're babbling.”

“I fucking know I am mate!” he snapped before he could stop himself, biting down on his lip a moment later as if it wasn't too late. Junkrat drew a sharp breath between his teeth and attempted to compose himself. He pointed a finger at Roadhog. “Just... I'll be back, okay?”

“Junkrat-”

But he was already off, skittering down the hallways as fast as his pegleg would take him. It seemed perilously urgent that he settled this as soon as possible. The more he waited the more the situation dawned on him, the genuine prospect of walking headlong into danger without Roadhog at his back. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that.

Earlier days... there were blanks here and there but he remembered enough. He'd survived years without the big bastard, but back then he'd been a nobody, a scrawny, one-legged nobody. Junkrat had been reckless enough with his explosives that folk didn't think him worth the risk of troubling most of the time, and that had kept him alive... after finding his treasure though things had changed.

He recalled, vaguely, the manic despair of realizing that his old tricks wouldn't work any longer. It didn't matter how many bombs or traps he built there would always be more people ready to take the place of those he dealt with. His supplies couldn't keep up, his hands wouldn't build fast enough, his legs weren't made to outrun every up-and-coming bounty hunter in the outback. He'd known he was fucked, but that frantically stubborn part of him refused to give up.

Then came Roadhog.

Junkrat had been fairly confident that the guy would kill him, but then again he was probably going to die anyways, so what did he have to lose? It was a risk, but Junkrat danced with danger on a regular basis. The secret was that it was the _danger_ that kept you safe. It didn't matter how perilous your position was so long as everyone else's was just a _little more_ perilous.

That was how he felt when he welcomed the ex-enforcer into his employment.

It had taken a certain level of desperation to share his time so close to a bloke he knew could snap his neck with a flick of his wrist, and he'd filled their initial few days with enough nervous chatter that his voice actually turned into a croak, but slowly he grew accustomed to the idea. The first time Roadhog had saved his life had helped. It still wasn't until a year later when his suspicions finally began to die.

Roadhog had had the chance to betray him.

Junkrat had been waiting for a moment like that, he'd known it would come sooner or later, that one day the money would be too good, that his constant talking would finally prove too much... he'd made a few contingency plans while he waited, plans he ran over every night so they wouldn't slip his mind. He never got to use them.

Roadhog... turned the offer down. Junkrat hadn't been able to wrap his head around it. He might have written it off – perhaps he'd read the situation wrong, maybe there were details he wasn't privy to, reasons it wasn't as good an opportunity as it seemed.

Yet there had been three more subsequent chances by Junkrat's count, three more occasions where Roadhog could have secured a sizable profit and unburden himself of his pest of an employer... and Junkrat weighed them up and he knew he would have taken them if their roles had been reversed, but Roadhog did not... and it baffled him. It went against everything a Junker stood for. He'd spent weeks trying to puzzle it out, searching for some trick, some hidden motive. In the end there was nothing to be found.

Tentatively... very tentatively, he had accepted the possibility that Roadhog genuinely wanted to keep him alive, and not because of any treasure.

Each and every time the man hauled him out from certain death it only encouraged the idea. The concept of trust had never really existed to Junkrat in any tangible form, but he'd trusted Roadhog. So long as the giant was within shouting distance things would be alright. It became the one thing he could rely on. No matter what, if shit went south then he wouldn't be alone, there would always be someone ready to drag him out of the fire...

And he liked Lucio. He liked Hana. Hell, he liked most of the other folk at Overwatch too, but they weren't _Roadhog_. They hadn't spent three years keeping him alive through thick and thin when he'd been sure he was on borrowed time. It wasn't the _same_. They couldn’t fill that gap, couldn’t switch places just because it was convenient, and he needed to remedy this now before people started thinking they _could_ , started to think this was just another of his meaningless habits they could correct like training an animal...

When he found Soldier Seventy-Six the man was sitting at his desk and staring suspiciously at the mug of coffee in his hands.

The room wasn't really an office as such... it lacked the precision for something like that, too disjointed, filled with whatever the man happened to find practical, half of which appeared to be weapons. Since Overwatch's recall a lot of rooms had yet to be arranged properly. Many were still empty, or filled with old supplies no one had the time to dig through, and while Tracer and the monkey were working on what to do with all the space it was slow going. Whatever had been dragged in here was by the man's own design.

Soldier glanced up as Junkrat collided with the doorframe, grabbing hold of it as his easiest means of slowing his momentum. Junkrat stood there for a moment while he caught his breath, then straightened up to his true height, squaring his shoulders and stalking forward.

“Now listen here mate,” he said, in what he considered to be his business tone, “seems to me like we've got a bit of a misunderstanding, right? Cos I was just talkin' to me old pal Hoggy, and he seems to think ya told him he ain't goin' on this mission...”

“He's not,” Soldier said plainly, setting the coffee aside.

Junkrat narrowed his eyes. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk so he could loom to the best of his ability. As a rule he'd never cut much of a menacing figure, too scrawny for that, but being six and a half foot tall sometimes caught people off guard. Unfortunately Soldier did not seem the least bit intimidated. Junkrat's scowl deepened. “See, that's the thing... I know for a fact he was scheduled to be, an' I don't much like that changin'... me and Roadhog, we're kinda a package deal, a team, ya get me? If I go, he goes, that's just how it works.”

“How it works,” Soldier told him, “is that you're given an order and you follow it.”

Junkrat bristled. That was precisely the problem with Soldier. He just expected everyone to fall in line, to nod and salute and cry ‘ _yes sir_ ’ before hopping into action because that was how he thought it was meant to go… but Junkrat had never grasped any military chain of command. He got that you listened to the top dog unless you wanted to risk a world of pain, but the rules of the reformed Overwatch were somewhat fuzzy to him.

It wasn’t the lawless, bloody society he’d grown up in… but nor was it the smooth, well oiled machine that Soldier seemed to envision. Neither of them had worked out where that left them standing. It was a juggling act of miscalculations and poor attempts to correct their own hapless blunders, none of which smoothed things over. At times such as these, when Junkrat wanted nothing more than to put a stop to this stupid mess, it was infuriating. It felt like yelling at a wall.

“I bloody follow orders mate! Ya tell me to blow shit up an' I do it, ya tell me _not_ to blow shit up an' I do that too! This ain't about orders it's about ya makin' no damn sense! Roadhog's meant to be on that mission an' ya go messin' with the way of it cos some Sheila bribed you or summit.”

“I don't take bribes,” Soldier growled out, voice dangerously low.

Junkrat snorted.

Soldier pushed his chair out and stood up, the sudden motion catching Junkrat by surprise so that he reeled back before righting his balance and folding his arms across his chest, feigning indifference. Soldier stabbed a warning finger in his direction. “Listen here Fawkes,” he said, “it's very simple. We're not expecting a large show of force this time around, what matters is holding a defensive position... it may be that someone pointed out to me that there were others better suited to the job than agent Rutledge. I said before that I won't be allocating anyone based on who has a bone to pick with who, and so it's only fair the same applies here. This isn't some field trip for you and your friends to have fun on, this is a _mission_. I'll pick whoever I think will do the best job and that's final.”

“Yeah but me an' Roadie are a team-”

“Overwatch is a team!” he snapped. Soldier sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he spoke again it sounded brisk, as if he were taking great pains to restrain himself. “You were hired because of your expertise and because Winston thought it was a better idea to have you _here_ rather than running amok, or worse yet, grouping up with Talon... especially with your secrets. I happened to agree with him. You've been useful, I won't lie, but the fact is Winston is right, we can't afford disunity at a pivotal time like this when the world is relying on us. I need everyone here to trust each other. I need to know you'll do your job no matter what happens, no matter who's standing next to you.”

The gears spun in Junkrat's head, piecing together the conversation. “So this is some test, huh? Ya think ya can just-”

“It's not a test. I'm simply making things clear. Overwatch needs to work together... if you can't do that, maybe we have a problem.”

He stiffened. “Ya threatenin' me!”

“I'm not...” Soldier trailed off with a groan of frustration. “Just behave, okay? I'm not going to argue about this any more, the matter is closed. The drop ship leaves in fifteen minutes... you'd better hurry if you want to be on it.”

Junkrat was still in the grips of disbelief. None of this morning was going like it should, and the more he tried to talk the less it felt like anyone was actually listening.

“Ya just don't get it, mate...” he all but pleaded, hands held out imploringly.

Soldier remained unfazed. “There's nothing _to_ get. I told you the matter is closed. You seem friendly enough with Hana and Lucio, they'll keep an eye on you I'm sure, it's just for a couple of days.”

Junkrat seriously considered refusing. He could plonk himself down on the floor and insist that he wasn't moving unless Roadhog was coming along too, he could sulk all week if he had to... or he could yell, shout every obscenity under the sun until he got it through Soldier's thick skull that this was _wrong_... or maybe rig up a few of the new bombs he'd been working on... or... or...

But the more he thought about it the more he felt backed into a corner.

He'd joined Overwatch for a reason... because he'd wanted to feel something, a connection he supposed, something they all seemed to share which the greedy part of him insisted that he needed, a thing he'd never quite understood but hungered for all the same. It wasn't something he could steal. Wasn't something he could force. It lingered on the edge of existence, insubstantial but taunting him nonetheless... and the longer he spent close to it, trying to figure out exactly what he was missing, the harder it was to pull away. He wanted... to belong.

And fuck, he felt stupid for it... it wasn't the sort of thing that he was _supposed_ to want. He couldn't justify it in his head. But Junkrat guessed his brain had never adhered to logic...

What life had taught him was simple – if you wanted something, _really_ wanted it, you had to decide if it was worth the risk, if you were starving enough to chance a bullet to the face or if it was better to wait another day.

_Overwatch needs to work together... if you can't do that, maybe we have a problem..._

God fucking _damn it_ he wanted to punch a wall... or maybe just punch Soldier, but he was pretty sure that wasn't acceptable behavior right now and he'd dug himself enough of a hole.

He bared his teeth, wrestling with his own indecision.

Soldier just stood there. Bloody prick probably took satisfaction from this, Junkrat thought mutinously, probably got a kick out of watching others squirm. Well, if the bloke was expecting him to humbly bow his head and apologize he was going to be sorely disappointed.

With whatever dignity he had left Junkrat puffed himself up, forcing himself to stare the man dead in the eyes. “Ya makin' a mistake mate, an' I'm tellin' ya that now so I can say 'I told ya so' later... I'll do me job, always hold up my end of a deal, but don't think for one second I'm happy about it, okay?”

“Never asked you to be,” Soldier said, sitting back down at his desk. He picked up his coffee again, giving it a doubtful sniff.

Junkrat fumed on the spot. He did not appreciate being ignored, particularly when he had a point he wanted to make, and Soldier's dismissive nature prickled at his skin in the worst sort of way. He stepped forward, rapping the knuckles of his prosthetic hand on the desk to catch his attention.

“Oi, I ain't forgettin' this,” he warned, “just in case ya thought otherwise.”

“Fawkes, the drop ship is waiting.”

“I'll write it down an' everythin'! You'll be hearing from me once I'm back.”

“ _Junkrat_ ,” Soldier cautioned, and the use of his callsign snapped him back into place.

The pointlessness of the situation began to sink in. There was nothing more to gain here. With a final bitter snarl he flung the rudest gesture he could think of in Soldier's direction and stormed out.

He nearly bumped into Roadhog. The mountain of a man rested just outside, calmly holding the blanket and set of traps he had abandoned in his panicked rush to go and fix things.

How long he had been loitering Junkrat had no clue, nor if he had managed to eavesdrop on any of the conversation. Junkrat was aware that he often talked far louder than he probably should so it wasn't as if he was _difficult_ to overhear even by accident, in fact people often overheard him despite their very best efforts _not_ to.

Junkrat checked over his shoulder, making sure he had slammed the door with a satisfying bang before turning back to his bodyguard. His posture slumped. “Thought I told ya to wait.”

Roadhog grunted.

“Yeah? Well maybe ya should listen...”

Roadhog inclined his head slightly – an inquiry by Junkrat's estimation.

His expression soured and he hunched further forward. He didn't want to admit it but lying was hardly an option either, he'd never been much good at hiding things, especially when distressed. “How'd ya think it went mate?” he demanded, jerking his chin back in the direction of the door he'd just slammed. “Think it's pretty damn obvious.”

“So you're going?”

The question hung in the air, too heavy for Junkrat's liking. His pegleg bounced on the ground, the faint creak of the shock absorbers the only noise save for the rasp of Roadhog's breathing, not enough to distract him and certainly not enough to ease the tension in his chest. He took an awkward half-step, then doubled back, then spun to face him once more. He threw his arms up in defeat. “I guess?”

He didn't know what else to say, how to wrap it all up, all of the frustration, the fear, the stubborn determination... he could have said a million things, would have started off on the biggest tangent of his life and talked until his voice was raw, but none of it would have helped.

Roadhog studied him with those soulless dark lenses. Then slowly he reached forward and dropped a hand onto his shoulder.

Junkrat regarded it with suspicion, but after a second's fidgeting he decided that it was probably meant as an act of comfort. This was just one of those times when Roadhog remembered Mako, tried to recall gestures from an age long gone and a life he'd striven to bury...

“Come on then,” he rumbled, “need to grab your things.”

He let go, ambling a few feet down the corridor before pausing to look back.

Junkrat groaned. “Fine, yeah, I got it,” he said, forcing his legs into action as he traipsed after him.

When he finally arrived at the loading bay he was weighed down by twice his usual supplies. Along with his RIP-tyre and general assortment of frags, mines and grenades he'd dug through his stash for anything else he could fit, be it complex bombs or molotov cocktails, even bits of wire that looked particularly useful, and a few things Roadhog threw in as well. He intended to be prepared.

Their footsteps echoed off the walls of the vast space, mingling with the faint hum of the ship’s engines. Sounded like it was just warming up to Junkrat’s ear, not the fiery roar that normally preceded take off.

Mercy was busy by one of the diagnostic screens at the edge of the room. She was obviously talking, though he couldn’t make out the words. There was no one beside her so he presumed she was consulting the base’s AI, treating it like an actual human as if it wasn’t just bits of fancy coding that could turn on you at any second… She paused as they approached.

“Ah, Jamison, it's good to see you at last,” Mercy declared, clasping her hands together, “there was some discussion as to whether you'd be making an appearance.”

“Ya know me doc, ain't stylish to be on time,” he muttered, glancing at his bodyguard. Roadhog gave an encouraging nod. _You'll be fine_ , it seemed to say, _just stay out of trouble._

Junkrat attempted a grin. It didn't feel particular convincing to him, but it must have been enough because Roadhog raised a hand in farewell. Junkrat mirrored the wave, watching reluctantly as he departed.

“Everyone else is already here,” Mercy continued brightly, “I'm just waiting on a few final checks from Athena then we should be good to go. Why don't you get settled and I'll be on board shortly to head us out?”

Junkrat liked the doc, but he was never quite sure if she acted chipper because she felt that way or because she wanted everyone else to think she did... Roadhog had called it a ' _bedside manner_ ' but Junkrat didn't see any beds around, so he suspected the pig was having a lark. Way he saw it Mercy was a good enough sort. When she smiled though there was an almost mechanical air to it... a smile that had been practiced a million times, for a million people, and as honestly as she meant it it always sat too perfectly on her face to feel real.

“Sure,” he said, and she beamed at him before returning to the screen.

He hefted his duffel bag, taking a final look around the cavernous expanse of the loading bay. Junkrat wasn't sure what he was searching for. He ran his thumb over the rough strap of the bag, setting his mind to the present and trying to focus on the feel of the fabric beneath his calluses rather than whatever else haunted him.

He'd barely managed two limping steps up the ramp before Lucio appeared. The DJ's smile was in place but it looked wrong.

“Hey man, took your time. Do you mind if I, eh, ask you something? Real quick?”

There was a tension in his voice, a strain that completely opposed his usual light and casual nature.

Junkrat set his gaze firmly ahead. “Not really in the mood for it, mate,” he said, attempting to step past him.

“Hold up!”

Lucio reached out to grab his arm and Junkrat flinched away, whirling to face him in an instant. The DJ froze. Very carefully he pulled his hand back, expression apologetic. “Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean...”

He grew quiet for a moment, staring up at Junkrat. Whatever he decided, when he spoke again it was hushed, words quick. “Look dude, it's just... you know how I feel about _Symmetra_ , yeah? I mean, maybe you forgot or... or something, but like I thought we had an understanding... and now... I guess I just gotta know what you're thinking, man, cos this? Well, I don't know what _I'm_ supposed to think-”

Junkrat cut him off with a laugh, a hollow imitation of what it should be. “Ya think this is _my_ plan?”

Lucio looked suddenly uncertain. “Well, I figured-”

“Ya figured wrong.” Maybe he should have said more. Maybe he should have taken the time to explain, to set the record straight while the opportunity was right there... but for once in his life Junkrat didn't feel like talking at all. Instead he pushed past Lucio and onto the drop ship, simmering with silent discontent and an anxiety that would not be soothed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soldier's coffee is wrong and he is grumpy... Guy probably believes in tough love too. He'd fight tooth and nail to protect his agents, but he doesn't go soft on them... not that I think he grasps the importance of the situation to Junkrat.  
> Anyways, sorry if things seem a bit grim at the moment, but I swear, it won't be forever... just bare with me here.


	10. Chapter 10

It always seemed bizarre to Junkrat how people assumed Australians didn't understand the cold. They must have thought that the blazing heat of the summer sun lasted all year round, that they lived in an eternal scorching land of dry, cracked earth and cloudless sky... but the winters had always been painfully real. No Antarctic hellscape certainly, but in the ramshackle remains that the destruction of the omnium had left behind, where central heating was a distant memory, it was rough. If they were lucky it passed relatively mild, but every few years a bad one hit.

When night fell there was no escaping that freezing weather. It was bitter, and cruel, and crept through every layer with a chill that chewed right into the bone. Sometimes sleep wasn’t even an option, you had to get up and move, anything to work a little more warmth into your body. Bad things happened to those who didn’t.

Junkrat had been luckier than some, always had a fire during the worst months and knew enough to put any personal grievances aside and bundle up with anyone who was willing if things turned bad... but he had never looked back on it fondly. No matter where he travelled he maintained an unyielding distaste for the cold. It made stepping off the drop ship and into the frigid outside air an unpleasant transition.

Junkrat recoiled slightly, glancing over his shoulder as if contemplating slinking back to the warmth of the cabin... he thought of trip over and quickly changed his mind. He had no wish to return to _that_.

Being cooped up for any extended period of time was bad enough. It prickled at his nerves, got him antsy with the need to move, not because he had anywhere to go but because the sudden knowledge that he _couldn't_ ate away at him. Even the idea of being trapped – however illusionary – set him ill at ease. Coupled with the complete inability to funnel his energy into anything productive, and the strained atmosphere between the ship's passengers, and it was a recipe for disaster.

Junkrat spent most of the flight finding convenient corners to stare at. Easier to avoid Lucio that way, who kept trying to catch his gaze despite his obvious reluctance to reciprocate. He listened to the steady thrum of the engines, to the staccato his leg beat on the floor, to D.Va's stilted attempts at sparking a conversation, to Mercy's updates as they closed in on their destination... He tore a hole in his glove simply by picking at the stitching.

No, he was done with that. Even with the cold at least outside was open, gave him room to breathe.

He stood there for a moment, eyes scanning the area before he was satisfied enough to step further away, putting a little distance between himself and the drop ship.

"Ooohh, it's pretty out here, isn't it?" D.Va's voice called from behind him.

He glanced back at her, shrugged, and turned away once more. "Nothin' special. Don't ya gotta be unloading your mech or somethin'?"

"Well yeah, but I thought I'd take a peek... Mercy wants to make a call before we do anything anyway- oh, heya Lucio, I was just saying to Rat-"

"Gonna go stretch me legs," Junkrat interrupted before she could continue, hefting his bag. He ignored the itch at his spine, the urge to look, to check, to measure their expressions. Didn't stop him from hearing her faltering reply.

"Oh, alright... Don't go too far..."

"I ain't stupid. Ya can yell out if ya need me."

True to his word he remained close to the group, keeping just enough of a gap that he was outside the range of easy conversation. He focused his mind instead on studying his surroundings.

Maybe they were pretty, in a rugged sort of way. Junkrat had never had a great appreciation for the beauty of nature. Sure, he'd been fascinated by how green grass turned out to be when you actually watered it, but soon the novelty died and so did his curiosity. The things he found beautiful were big and shiny, glittering with the promise of riches and just begging for a touch of chaos... The Scottish highlands weren't exactly a place he'd thought to visit before. Not a lot to plunder, nothing to pique his interest.

They'd landed the drop ship in a relatively concealed position, the curve of the land leaving it in a ditch so that it remained out of sight of anyone not already close. It was hardly a perfect camouflage but Junkrat doubted there were many conveniently sized nooks or crannies to store it in. Once he'd managed to climb far enough up the grassy slope he had a decent view.

He let his gaze rove across the rocky hills and barren stretches of grassland, picking it apart as he usually did, marking every potential hiding spot or vantage point, assessing the best places to conceal his own traps. The habit was almost soothing.

Until he spun, ready to share his thoughts with Roadhog and found only the empty space beside him. Of course. His grin slipped away, falling limply from his face. How could he forget? Even for a split second...

His shaky hands found their way to his bag and he occupied himself with rummaging through it, cataloging his supplies. There was a jacket he didn't remember packing which was at least an answer to the cold... Most of the rest was no surprise but it gave him something to do, because if he didn't, well... he had no idea what would happen. It was easiest to pretend, to go through the motions and not give the panic room to grow. Sometimes you had to narrow yourself down to one thing at a time.

When Mercy called him back they already seemed prepared to move out. D.Va's mech stood at the ready with her leaning against its leg, Lucio had his skates on and Symmetra was carrying her photon projector. Mercy beckoned him closer, a little to the side, and Junkrat felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise, suddenly suspicious.

Clearly she wanted a word with him, but why? He was behaving, wasn't he? Didn't remember doing anything that deserved scolding anyhow...

"It's alright," she assured him, catching the tension in his approach, "I just wanted to make sure you recall the mission brief... I don't want to presume but you have a record of memory issues and, well, it occurred to me that you normally ask Mako these things... I wouldn't wish to make you uncomfortable in front of the others..."

She seemed unsure how put it, to kindly ask if he had any bloody clue what he was doing. It was almost funny. Normally he would have giggled – it was absurdly silly how much care she put into how she addressed him, as if everyone didn't already know he was a scatter brain at this point, as if _he_ might have forgotten... Junkrat grinned out of habit, but he suspected it looked more menacing than he wanted it to. It was hard to manage a proper smile while fighting down every one of his instincts.

He wanted to place more distance between them... to find a spot where he could keep everyone in his peripherals, since there was no one to manage his blindside... to keep his hand on his frag launcher and watch for incoming danger, alert for every warning twitch or motion... He _had_ to be ready... but he also had to remind himself that Overwatch was a team... not his enemy.

They weren't Roadhog… they would never be able to put him at ease like his partner did... but Junkrat had gotten on the bloody ship. He'd known what it would mean. Somehow, somehow he had to make this work...

"Jamison?" she enquired politely.

Junkrat's head snapped round at the mention of his name. Mercy just smiled at him, that same perfect, mechanical smile... He didn't like the way her eyes lingered on him. There was a special sort of attentiveness there, a carefully concealed study that he had no wish to suffer through. He looked away, waving a hand vaguely in a sign of indifference.

"Got the gist of it. Job's a job, right? Ain't like I ever get too caught up in the specifics anyhow."

"Humor me?"

He scowled. "Ya wanna talk to some bloke about info, an' wanna make sure Talon don't go interruptin'... seems pretty straight forward to me, piece of piss. Just point at what needs blowin' up an' I got ya covered."

She sighed, though she at least seemed satisfied that he had the basics down. In truth Junkrat's attention had been drifting during the briefing, but he'd picked up enough to understand that the mission was another stab in the dark more than anything.

Overwatch had no real clue what Talon was up to. They knew a few of their agents, had bumped into them here and there, but the rest of the organization remained something of a shadow... Who pulled the strings, and what their end goal might be, persisted as a dark mystery. And Winston had been very insistent that they _were_ up to something...

Talon had existed long before the recall initiative. That they'd resurfaced after such a long time remaining dormant wasn't a coincidence...

Junkrat was not concerned with Talons plans. He'd never cared much about the danger they posed to the world... but he'd never cared much about the world anyways, he'd always been more concerned with his own life. Overwatch had higher principles. It greatly troubled them, particularly the older members. This mission was just one of a series of their attempts to dig up anything that might give them some insight, an edge they could use in the coming storm. If nothing else he could appreciate the desire to see what an enemy was up to.

"Alright then," Mercy said gently, giving him a final once over, "If there's anything you need to be refreshed, don't hesitate to ask."

He offered a mock salute. "Sure thing doc."

She took a few steps back, picking up her staff while she called out to the others. "Off we go then! Keep your communicators on the same channel please, and make sure none of you have left anything in the drop ship - we won't be back for a while."

"Finally!" D.Va cried, scaling the side of her mech easily and slipping inside. The thing lurched to life, steps heavy on the soft earth as she stomped about.

Symmetra took an instinctive pace back but Lucio showed no fear of being trampled by the giant construct. He patted at the leg and D.Va directed it to stoop down, allowing him to clamber up onto its sloping shoulder. He seemed quite comfortable perched there.

"Hey Rat, you want a lift?" she asked as the mech straightened up. "I reckon there's room for you _and_ Lucio if you hang on tight, just don't scratch the paintwork."

"Yeah, could do with some cushions, but it saves walking... Come on man, the three of us?" Lucio asked hopefully.

Junkrat considered the mech. Like all the machines outside of the Outback it had a sleekness to it, no belching smoke or mismatched parts, no grease along its pink painted sides, no cracks in the visor. He'd seen it in action a few times... had even got a good look at some of its workings when he'd caught Torbjorn doing some minor maintenance during a trip to the garage. Seemed reliable. Even with the faint jolt of its stride, the stabilizers kept the cockpit relatively level, smoothing out the turbulence. It would spare him the strain the rough terrain would put on his leg.

Yet it would also leave him unable to manage his own positioning, relying entirely on how D.Va maneuvered... And if an ambush were to land, what then? He'd have to leap off – risk his balance, waste precious seconds grounding himself when he should already be shooting...

Not to mention it would put him closer to Lucio. The DJ had made no further attempts to accuse him, he seemed suspiciously friendly in fact... But Junkrat was still nursing a quiet bitterness – he had enough to deal with, he didn't want to have to face questions, didn't want to face anyone really, didn't want to risk snapping now while he was busy wrestling all his mounting anxiety down into a tightly lidded box. Didn't want to explain himself.

While he hesitated Symmetra took the time to voice her concern. "That looks neither safe nor professional, I would advise against it. I am sure that there must be some regulation-"

"No one asked _you_ ," Lucio cut her off.

Symmetra appeared a little taken aback by the interruption. "I was merely offering my opinion on the matter," she said quietly, folding her hands in front of her. A light frown brushed her features. "I did not intend-"

"You gonna join us?" Lucio asked, ignoring her entirely in favor or Junkrat. He patted the top of the mech, shooting him an expectant look. "Dude?"

Junkrat's fingers curled around the strap of the bag he carried. "Nah," he said, and it sounded harsher than he'd intended. He tried again, heaping a little more nonchalance into his tone. "Spent hours sittin' in that bloody ship, think I'd go balmy, feel better on the move meself..."

His eyes kept wanting to dart over Lucio's expression, to spend a moment deciphering it, but he was unwilling to settle there, flickering away almost immediately to any other detail.

"Well," Mercy said diplomatically when the pause dragged on too long, "there's no harm in walking. I'm sure the exercise will do us good."

He almost laughed on reflex, an anxious sound that got caught somewhere in his throat and emerged more as a strangled croak. Junkrat coughed, thumped his chest and tried to play it off. He could feel them watching him but his own gaze was evasive. He tugged at his grenade harness, attempting to get it to sit right over the fabric of his jacket. "Yeah, ain't like ya want me dangling off that thing anyhow, got a few, eh, volatile materials here with me... Could make for an interestin' experience if I took a tumble. An' by interestin' I mean likely to go up in flames..."

"Best to be cautious then," Mercy agreed, in a voice that sounded just a little too chipper to his dubious ears. Did she know? Did any of his agitation register beyond his normal twitchy nature? It wasn't as if they could see the tension coiling in his stomach, wasn't as if they could hear the thud of his heart...

Shit, he needed to get a hold of himself. Wasn't like it was the first time he'd wandered into danger without Roadhog at his side. He'd survived, he'd always survived... Besides, there was nothing here now, just the possibility of peril lurking in the nearing future, vibrating through him with an energy he wasn't sure how to direct yet. He'd forgotten how that felt.

Junkrat forced a smile, teeth clenched tight. "See? Doc gets it."

"You don't _have_ to, just offering," D.Va said. "Not everyone's a lazy bum like Lucio."

"Hey!" Lucio thumped the roof of the mech but she just grinned.

"I only tell the truth cos I love you," she said sweetly.

"More like cos you know you can get away with it."

"It's not _my_ fault you're a pushover. Anyway," she continued before Lucio could retort, "I've got the coordinates so this taxi service is moving out, if you're not along for the ride I hope you peasants can keep up!" She lifted one of the massive guns in a friendly wave before piloting the mech away, clomping up the bank.

Lucio twisted around so he could look back at them. His smile seemed uncertain. "Yell out if you change your mind, yeah?" he called before D.Va could get too far.

Junkrat gave him the thumbs up.

The trip passed relatively uneventfully. Symmetra and Mercy set a respectable pace, easy to match with his own limping gait, passing polite conversation between themselves. Junkrat kept his frag launcher in hand and scanned every inch of the landscape.

Despite his heightened awareness there was very little to alarm him, the Scottish highlands were largely barren in nature and what existed had an almost ancient stillness to it, as if the languid sway of heather in the breeze might not have changed in a thousand years. The sudden bolt of a rabbit caught him off guard once, resulting in a smoldering mess and a scornful Mercy, but no real harm beyond his own startlement. Symmetra seemed equally displeased when he suggested it might make a decent snack. He'd only been half joking.

They climbed several hills, but as they wound their way up the steep side of the latest slope, Junkrat's overwrought nerves began to prickle – there was something different. It was the formation of the terrain.

While most of what he's seen so far was relatively open, save for the odd rock or tree, here the ground rose up sharply on either side of the path they took, forming a rivet in the earth. The space was narrow enough that D.Va's mech could barely squeeze through, the sides blocking any sight bar the path itself.

Junkrat wasn't an expert but he knew enough to recognize a bottleneck. Man-made, most likely. This was a defensive position designed to be as painful as possible to push through. A few good grenades down here could wreak havoc... no space to maneuver, no choice but to walk forward one at a time right into whatever the enemy had lined up... Fuck.

He ground to a halt, scouring the formation.

This was the sort of place you stayed the hell away from if you spotted it. It meant people were waiting, prepared... It meant they were expecting a fight, had chosen their territory carefully... Unless you were on the edge of starvation it was never worth the risk. Even then it wasn't something you wandered into blindly. A couple of hours staking out the place was always worth the trouble before committing to giddy desperation and explosives, just in case the enemy allowed you a glimpse of them, anything really, to make it less than a bloody _suicide_ mission.

"Jamison?" Mercy inquired, pleasant as always.

He licked his lips, uncertain how to express his apprehension. "Ya _sure_ this is the way?"

"Of course. Hana has the coordinates, and I have my own copy here," she said, lifting a small screen on her wrist for him to inspect. The lines didn't make much sense to him, Junkrat had always had his own special way of making maps, usually consisting of hastily scribbled drawings of landmarks or places that might stick in his memory alongside a near illegible cluster of notes. He could have probably puzzled it out given a minute but his attention refused to settle. He glanced behind them, back down the hill, checking their retreat.

"So we're nearly there then, right?"

She nodded, pulling her wrist back. "Nearly."

"And this bloke ya wanna talk to... ya trust him?"

"Absolutely," she said without hesitation. "He is a friend from the old days and was more than happy to offer his assistance when we asked, he has no reason to move against us. We've been in communication for several days now and nothing I've heard has given me pause."

"Right..."

Still Junkrat's legs seemed unwilling to move. But he couldn't stop here. Couldn't listen to the frantic voice in his head screaming at him to turn back. The longer he waited the more chance there was that D.Va and Lucio would notice, might ask what the hold up was... The longer he waited the more apparent his own behavior would become to _everyone_. He couldn't allow it.

_Overwatch needs to work together... if you can't do that, maybe we have a problem._

He had to just put one foot in front of the other, one step at a time, focus on that and tell his mind to _shut the hell up_ because it _wasn't_ helping... If he could just narrow himself down to that he could do it.

Slowly Junkrat began to walk forward.

It felt as if the sides of the path were pressing in like the jaws of some great earthen giant, an impending sense of doom ready to grind them between its teeth and crush the life out of them. If an attack hit here... If an attack hit, it was the worst possible place. Junkrat loved lobbing explosives down a bottleneck. He knew how lethal it could be.

His pace increased, and before he knew it he was jogging up the slope and after D.Va's mech. He had to get out. If he could just push past here, break into the open, take the high ground...

Then suddenly they crested the hill and the sides curved out, spilling them onto the level surface at the top.

Lucio and D.Va were chatting away but he barely heard it, his attention immediately locked on their surroundings.

The sides banked around in an almost bowl-like formation and blocked any view of the valleys below. It enclosed a wide area, perhaps not enough room to safely land the drop ship, but enough for its purposes. An assortment of plants he couldn't recognize sprouted from the churned ground, and in the center of this cultivation sat a tiny shack with a satellite and a row of antennae balanced on the roof.

It was clearly hand-built. Better than what he remembered from most parts of Junkertown – here the materials were uniform and designed with some sort of cohesion, not the strange hodge-podge of scavenged pieces that Junkers were forced to deal with – but still a long way from the crisp, clean structures that littered the civilized parts of the world. He stared at it, dissecting every detail while D.Va gradually began to try and navigate further without trampling any plants.

"How... rustic!" Mercy said as she caught up, sounding a little out of breath. "It must be very peaceful to live here."

"It's wrong," Symmetra said, only a step behind. Her expression seemed troubled. "The angles are wrong. This was not built with proper measurements, nor any professional care that I can discern... It was made incorrectly."

Junkrat ignored her.

"So this is where ya guy's at?" he demanded of Mercy, walking a little further forward as he checked the ground. It didn't _look_ like there was anything nasty buried, but with the disturbance the vegetable garden had made it was difficult to be sure. He moved cautiously, testing each step, eyes flicking back to the shack every few seconds. D.Va's mech seemed to have survived so far, which was promising.

"Yes, he should be-" she began, but as she spoke the door of the shack burst open.

Junkrat shot to attention. His frag launcher was leveled right at the door. At the man.

He was a gaunt figure, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes with long grey hair trailing down his shoulders in tangled waves. Most of him beyond his head was hidden by the massive coat he wore, save for a pair of bony hands which clutched a silver gun of unfamiliar design. He pointed the weapon toward D.Va's mech.

Slowly D.Va waved. The motion seemed clunky but her tone was bright. "Ummm... hi?"

Lucio had his hands raised high in a gesture of peace. Junkrat's finger hovered on the trigger.

Just _one_ move, he thought with his pulse thudding in his veins, _just try it_. The moment that man went to fire he'd be ready, and the whole damn place would be going up in flames. He couldn't risk taking chances, no here, not now, not without Roadhog at his back… he'd fucking burn it all. Junkrat could feel his grin stretched tight, all teeth and no cheer.

"Hector!" Mercy called out, as if they had just spotted one another across the street on a sunny afternoon. "How are you these days? It feels like it's been forever..."

The man turned his head to look at her. Junkrat’s finger twitched on the trigger. Then the man lowered the weapon and beamed. "Angela, as pretty as always, looks like life's treating you well at least. Can't say the same for these old bones but that's nothing new. These kids your team then?"

"These agents," she corrected him, "are with me, yes, and a part of the reformed Overwatch. They're all highly skilled and I would trust them with my life."

"Huh. Well I'm not one to judge, always thought Jesse was a bad idea but he turned out alright, except for that _stupid_ hat... Well, don't just stand there, come on in! I don't get visitors much these days... Kind of expected when you drop into hiding, but that's not to say I don't miss company."

He held the door open, gesturing for them to enter with a broad smile.

Junkrat narrowed his eyes.

Any previous animosity this Hector had appeared to feel was gone, and the others seemed at ease - Lucio was already sliding off D.Va's mech to shake hands and introduce himself. Junkrat, however, remained wary. He didn't know _shit_ about this guy. All he knew was that you didn't pick a defensive position like this unless you were prepared to fight... And only someone with practice leveled a gun so swiftly. It didn't matter that Mercy considered him an old friend, it changed nothing. This man was a threat, and as long as he was sure of that he refused to take his eyes off him.

It took all of his self control to finally lower his frag launcher. He still kept it in hand, at the ready.

Very cautiously he followed the others.

The tension in his stride left him feeling stiff, like a machine in desperate need of oiling, each movement sharp, jolting, coiled tight with an energy ready to lash out at a second's warning. He did not want to go near the man. He did _not_ want to step inside the shack.

Junkrat reminded himself that he was carrying enough firepower to level a palace if the urge took him, and that anyone stupid enough to challenge him would quickly discover how happy he was to unleash that sort of destruction if backed into a corner. People had always been strangely unwilling to tangle with the ‘manic, explosives wielding freak’. It had kept him alive for years in the outback, and it would serve just as well here. The thought was almost comforting.

He still pushed past Hector quickly, ignoring his proffered hand and trying to minimize their proximity, immediately positioning himself so that Lucio and D.Va stood between them. His attention danced rapidly from the man to the contents of the shack, trying to study both.

"So," D.Va said, "Mercy says you have info. Does that mean you're like... A spy? A hacker?"

Hector laughed. "No, I consider myself a _collector_."

“Oh… okay.” She sounded almost disappointed.

He waited until Symmetra reluctantly entered the shack before closing the door. Junkrat tried to hide his flinch.

"You know," Hector continued, beckoning them further inside as he bustled through, "when the library of Alexandria was destroyed humanity suffered a terrible blow. What civilization we might be living in now had that knowledge survived we'll never know... Information is the blood of our species, the secret to our advancement... It must be protected."

"I've always thought people were the blood of our species," Mercy said, though from her manner it seemed as if she were teasing, an old debate they had clearly been through before.

"Bah, people are replaceable," Hector said. "We live, we die, that's just how it works... But information can impact the world centuries from now when our generation is nothing but dust."

He kicked aside a rug with his foot, revealing a trapdoor. "That's why I worked with Overwatch back in the day. During the omnic crisis we could have lost so much... I did my best to stop that. Fat lot of thanks the world showed for it. You young-un's will see what I mean, doesn't matter how much of a hero you are, people just want someone to blame sometimes... Once the enemy's gone you'll be all they have to turn on."

"People were probably just scared," Lucio said. "I wasn't there but... man, I've seen videos..."

D.Va nodded. "War isn't pretty."

"This isn't like before though…" he continued. "Overwatch returning is a sign of hope, we're just... trying to make a difference, that's what counts, right?" Lucio smiled, that warm upbeat smile that could melt any heart, no matter how cold.

Hector just snorted, unlocking the hatch and pulling it open. "I love your optimism kid, but give it a few decades and you might change your tune."

"That's quite enough grumbling for now Hector," Mercy chided, "Overwatch was shut down for a reason, but it returned for a reason too, have a little compassion. I'd rather you didn't go filling their heads with tales of doom and gloom."

"Ah but that's my specialty... Not what you're here for though. Guess I should show you what I've been up to all this time." He stepped down the hatch, footsteps echoing on the stone stairs. It sounded deep. It sounded like a tomb.

Junkrat could not see much beyond the small shaft of light cast from the shack, and most of that was blocked by Hector and his oversized coat. What he _could_ see did not look inviting. It was clearly a bunker of some kind, set in concrete with a thick steel hatch that looked like an absolute pain to blast through, and designed to be sealed from both sides.

It would be easy... Easy to trap them down there, to lock them down there with whatever might be waiting... He could break them out given time but not quick enough...

The others shared none of his fears, following Hector down while he chatted blithely about the importance of knowledge in all its forms.

Junkrat took a deep breath. He checked around the shack, peg leg tapping at the floor, finger still poised on the trigger of his frag launcher. D.Va, Lucio and Symmetra had already descended into the bunker, and Mercy was close behind. It was too late to persuade them to stop... and even if he wanted to, what would he say? None of his reasoning would meet up to their scrutiny... It was just fear, a distrust that had been beaten into him by the years...

Without Roadhog there it was hard not to resort to that kind of instinct.

But that's what Overwatch was meant to be, wasn't it? Something new... the chance at something _more_... And maybe that meant taking risks here or there, with the same desperate fury he'd always taken risks... because the alternative meant losing something he couldn't afford.

“Bleedin’ hell,” he muttered.

His teeth bit into a snarl, left hand curled into a fist as if it could squeeze the tension from him. He knew he had no choice. With his pulse ringing in his ears Junkrat stepped down into the bunker.

The stairs ran pretty deep, a good few meters by his estimation and far more than he felt were necessary, though perhaps the near crawling speed he chose made it seem worse than it was.

The hanging bulbs cast a dim blue glow overhead, but they didn't need to be bright. Thousands upon thousands of tiny lights glittered in the gloom, blinking on and off in an entrancing display of colour... The lights of countless consoles. A data bank. Looming columns of them ran in neat lines, far further than Junkrat cared to explore.

D.Va was talking excitedly to Hector as he showed them around, Lucio at her side and Symmetra tailing them silently, surveying the area with her usual attention to detail.

Junkrat hovered at the base of the stairs, unwilling to move away from the exit. Mercy waited with him.

"Jamison..." she said quietly, "I know this is hard for you... but I need you to hold yourself together."

He fidgeted, gaze darting across the room, drawn by each flickering light. He couldn’t have kept himself still even if he wanted to. "Nah, I'm apples doc, don't know what ya mean."

She sighed. It carried a strange reluctance, as if whatever she wanted to say could not be aired here, and her sympathetic expression hardened to a more businesslike persona. She still hesitated before she spoke. "May I ask you something?"

Junkrat shrugged. "Nothin' stoppin' ya trying."

"Theoretically... could you destroy this place?"

That caught his attention. His eyes snapped to her, staring at the Swiss doctor in disbelief. She looked like she always did, blonde and angel-like, pleasant, but her mouth was set in a firm line that denounced any possibility of humor. Junkrat squinted, half convinced he had misheard. "Ya wot now?"

"Hector is a _friend_ ," she said, putting careful emphasis on the word, "but I don't know what information is down here yet... If Talon were to find us... If I asked you to, could you destroy it? Completely?"

He blinked, gnawing at his lip as he ran a few stunned calculations. "Yeah... yeah, reckon so... Would have to set a few charges but it ain't nothin' special..."

She smiled, that same god damned perfect smile she always used. "Good. I shall keep you posted… for now let’s keep this between us."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kind of... eh about this chapter... I know it's pretty slow, but hopefully you can forgive me. After consideration I think it's probably better to keep moving forward rather than spending time re-writing it entirely for the sake of excitement... hopefully that should arrive in upcoming chapters.  
> Also shout out to Varmint for doing some minor proof reading for me.


	11. Chapter 11

You couldn't bloody trust people. Junkrat had known that from the day he could talk, it was a lesson every Junker had to learn if they wanted to live more than a couple of hours. Everyone wanted something... so long as you weren't in the way, that you made sure you were worth more alive than dead, or that you were too much of a risk to hunt down... so long as you did that you could survive. But when things changed you had to be ready to adapt.

Finding Hog had been a change. Joining Overwatch too for that matter. But Junkrat's thoughts were muddled. The more tense he felt the harder it was to remember everything he'd told himself over the last few weeks, every decision, every promise.

Mercy wanted to keep secrets, which meant she was up to something, which meant she couldn't be trusted, which meant he should... should what? He didn't even know anymore. Four years ago he would have a plan, would have known who to threaten or kill or bribe to get what he wanted... but that didn't bloody work anymore. He wasn't supposed to feel cornered. This wasn't how teams worked. He just wanted to leave. But what was it he had said to himself? This mission had to work. It _had_ to, or he was just a scatterbrained criminal who didn't belong, trying to play a part he could never truly fit.

Everyone else seemed preoccupied with Hector's tour while Junkrat fidgeted at the base of the stairs. They showed no reluctance to walk further into the underground bunker, no fear of the unknown and certainly no wariness of Hector himself. What would it be like to feel that way? Hell, he wouldn't know, he'd be dead.

Whatever the case he knew he couldn't stay somewhere so enclosed. Every one of his instincts shrieked against the very thought, leaving him near nauseous. If Roadhog was there things would have been different. He'd have had some kind of assurance, a trust built over years, absolute confidence that he'd be dragged out of whatever danger he wandered into if it went bad... but the others were no substitute, no matter how they might try. Life surviving the outback had taught him rules, and those where what he fell back on now.

He took a deep breath. “Gonna go set some traps, right? Build up some real defenses and whatnot, ain't much use down here.”

“Alright, but be careful,” Mercy cautioned. “Don't wander too far and call us on the coms if you see anything.”

“No worries...” He backed up the steps, casting troubled glances in both directions.

The moment he was back in the shack he searched every room. A quick scan first, making sure there were no lurking surprises, familiarizing himself with the layout, and then through again more thoroughly with an eye for detail.

He checked cupboards and drawers, rifling through every bit of clutter, tossing it aside as soon as he decided it was worthless. He pocketed a few pieces of scrap out of habit, but he was forced to admit that Hector at least didn't seem to stash any kind of weapons or tricks up here. Pity that didn't assure him. Smart bloke wouldn't leave his shit somewhere easy to find anyway.

His well trained ears caught footsteps long before anyone appeared. He paused, angling his head. They were too light to be Hector, too clipped for D.Va or Lucio, which left only two possibilities. Junkrat peered out from his defensive position around the corner. He met Symmetra's gaze and slowly lowered his frag launcher.

“Ya follow me up here?” he asked, tone accusatory. He wasn't sure he'd meant it that way... but then again he might have. There was too much to deal with at the moment, it was hard to peel back the layers of frustration, unease and paranoia to work out exactly how pissed he was.

“Yes.” There was nothing defensive in her voice, nor apologetic, she was simply stating fact.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“You claimed you were setting up defenses, and I have already seen what I wish to below. I thought perhaps we could coordinate defenses together, though I was expecting that you would have already begun...”

He shrugged. “Got distracted. Don't need no help though, got me own way of doing things, think your fancy tech thingos would just get in the way. Ain't ya supposed to be buddyin' up to Lucio anyhow? That's what you're here for, right?”

Her expression was contemplative, as if trying to puzzle the precise meaning of his query. She answered slowly, ponderously, and Junkrat could swear blind there was the barest whisper of concern in her tone. “I would never allow my own agenda to get in the way of a mission. If we coordinate then I can ensure that my ' _tech thingos'_ , as you so call them, in no way conflict with your own... constructions. I am trying to help.”

“Look,” he said, a little sharper, “I'm gonna be riggin' things outside, don't want nobody toddlin' inta that kinda mess, so do what ya like in here but don't go out unless I call, ya get me?”

She stood very still, silent for a moment. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head. “Are you upset with me?”

He threw up a hand in exasperation, the other still clutching his frag launcher. “Crikey, we're fine, yeah? Just... got shit to do.”

He couldn't hide remaining tension in his posture, but Symmetra often took a while to read people properly. Maybe she knew, maybe she didn't, he was too distracted to care. Working out how he felt about a mistake that was probably half his own bloody fault anyway was something that needed to wait. Right now there was too much pressing in on him and the best he could do was shove off any real confrontation as much as possible. He needed something else to focus on, something, anything, that gave him some iota of control, made him feel in a position of relative power.

“Just stick your stuff up once I'm done,” he told her, “easier for both of us.”

She pursed her lips. “I see.” She kept her poise as always but there was something like suspicion lurking in her gaze. “Jamison... would you... consider us friends?”

The hell was that kind of question to ask at a time like this? The term seemed uncertain on her tongue, like a word she was unused to, and he had no clue what she expected from him. He grit his teeth. “I told ya I'm busy alright? Can't ya just leave it be Sym? Yeah?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are aware that your behavior is... exaggerated?”

“I said I'm bloody fine alright?”

Symmetra considered him briefly. “I doubt that. However, if you wish for space then I will not intrude... I will see if Hector has any preference for interior defenses for now.”

She stalked away while Junkrat took a breath and sought to remind himself what he had been doing. Defenses, yes. If he built enough then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't feel quite so vulnerable. If he had enough traps and explosives to hide behind then maybe he would stop jumping at shadows and he could bury the paranoia back where it belonged...

He threw himself to the task with all he had.

Junkrat had always had a knack for rigging nasty surprises, it had kept him alive for years and some part of his mind delighted at the chance to concoct the worst sort of misfortune for anyone trying to corner him. While setting charges and burying traps he almost felt like himself... then he would make a joke, cackle to himself, expecting the weary sigh from Hog... but it would never come, and when he glanced behind him there was nothing there...

It was deeply unsettling, like the months after he'd first lost his arm. He remembered how often he'd reach for something only to realize he had no hand to pick it up with anymore... didn't matter what he'd learned, it was so instinctual he'd forget again and again, cursing himself for his own fucking stupidity. Each time he recalled the realization hit him with a sickening drop in his stomach, a sudden spike in his pulse.

The empty space where Hog should have been left him exposed. He had to stay grounded. Had to stay sharp, stay on top of his game until this was all done with. He wasn't weak. Refused to be an easy target. It would have been so much easier if he'd had something to prove that to, if he'd had an enemy to snarl at and shoot at, but there was nothing. Just the promise of danger and no one to fight to keep his place.

It only took him an hour to rig the path to the hill and the area surrounding the shack, but he wasted another two in a vain attempt to dredge some form of satisfaction from the task. No matter what he added it did not soothe him.

When he slunk back into the shack the group appeared to be on a lunch break of sorts, sharing sandwiches in the narrow space of the dinky kitchen. He hovered a small distance away and flapped a piece of paper in Symmetra's direction.

“What is that?” she asked coolly, regarding him across the line of condiments.

“Map of where not ta tread if ya wanna stay in one piece. Figured you'd like that.”

She finished her sandwich in two delicate bites, excusing herself as she rose to accept his offering. Mild distaste crossed her features as she took in his careless scribbles but she nodded nonetheless. “Thank you. I shall get to work.” She slipped passed him, the faint clatter of the door signaling her exit. Junkrat scanned the kitchen and carefully weighing his options.

“Oi Rat, you down for lunch?” D.Va asked, waving a sandwich at him brightly. “We called you over the coms but you were just... talking to yourself I think.”

“There's a free spot now,” Lucio encouraged, indicating to Symmetra's vacant seat.

Junkrat eyed it for a moment before he shook his head. “Nah, I'm good.”

“Ah go on, you look like you could stand to gain a few pounds,” Hector said with a smile. “I know it's nothing fancy but I don't keep much around the place. Figure a meal's only fair to offer though – never let it be said I'm a poor host.”

“Had some rations earlier,” Junkrat lied, ignoring Mercy's dubious gaze.

“At least sit with us?”

He scrutinized the table as if it were an enemy, a threat to be evaluated. “Got plans I was gonna sketch up. Just get in the way here.”

“Jamison,” Mercy said softly, “please sit. We are all friends here, it's only polite.”

“It's fine, let the lad do what he likes,” Hector said with a shrug. “No point trying to beat manners into someone, not like it'll hurt my delicate sensibilities anyhow.”

The _fucker_. He'd have told him exactly where he could shove his manners if it wasn't for present company.

When his gaze flickered to them D.Va and Lucio were both watching him hopefully. Maybe he should join them... maybe it was what you were _supposed_ to do... but somehow the idea of sitting in such close confines with a bloke he was _convinced_ could not be trusted didn't appeal. He was on edge enough as it was, adding to the tension was just a recipe for disaster. He didn't trust himself. One wrong move on Hector's part and the whole shack was coming down, no question about it.

“Yeah, you civilized types do what ya like, I got proper shit what needs doin',” he muttered, limping off without so much as a wave. He kept them in his peripherals until he was out of sight but made no attempt to study their expressions. Junkrat had precisely no time for whatever mix of disappointment, irritation or other displeasure they showed. What mattered was keeping a lid on his own bloody problems.

There wasn't much room in the shack but he selected a spot to settle, close enough that he could watch the doorway to the kitchen, with easy access to a window in case the need for a quick escape arose. His mind was too busy for sketching plans, so he distracted himself by cataloging his remaining supplies, running through them again and again as if it would help embed it in his memory. His ears strained to pick out their voices, listening to the subtle sounds that signified movement, keeping track of where they were.

When Symmetra finally returned he all but leapt up. Immediately he was off for the door. 

“I thought you had already set your defenses to your satisfaction?” Symmetra said, watching the obvious speed at which he hurried.

“Gotta make sure ya ain't screwed anythin' up though, right? Bein' thorough and all that.”

“I assure you, I in no way tampered with your work,” she said, “I was careful to avoid it at all costs, in fact.”

“Well... guess I'll just go check that for meself then,” he replied, pushing past her and outside once more.

Here he didn't have to worry about the compact space of the shack or those inside. He was close to his traps, with a good view of the pathway leading up to their current position. It was a smart place to hold - he'd be prepared for anything advancing, frag launcher loaded ready to fire, and if he angled himself right be could keep half an eye on the shack too provided he juggled his attention. He'd probably hear anything before he saw it but it was better to be sure.

It was the closest he could get to feeling secure, and even that couldn't dull his agitation. He set up several more traps in an attempt to pass the time since it was all he could think to do.

D.Va went outside at one point to run some checks on her mech, which was stationed just outside the shack. He caught her watching him, but his obvious refusal to make eye contact or acknowledge her presence seemed to dissuade her from interrupting his vigil, and she left shortly after.

As far as Junkrat could tell the team had decided leaving him his space might be for the best. They called him over the coms now and again – Symmetra was setting up a shield generator, could he check it reached him? Did he want some music? Would he like to come inside for dinner?

Junkrat's replies, when he remembered to make them, were plain, his attention elsewhere.

He stayed where he was as the sun bled out, leaving the land dark and cold in the wan glow of the moon. While the shape of the hill offered some protection a crisp breeze still stirred across the surface causing him to shiver and pull his jacket closer around him.

He could see the light spilling from windows of the shack, yellow and bright. It was probably warm in there. It was also still too unfamiliar and tightly packed and filled with Hector, and he couldn't keep an eye on everything... he didn't want to be shut in there, didn't want to feel trapped.

As much as he despised the cold he'd weathered it before.

Junkrat didn't know what time it was when a hushed rattle signaled the door of the shack opening and closing. Even in the dark it only took a glance to identify Lucio – the green glow of his skates gave him away instantly, any attempt at stealth was impossible.

He waited as the glow steadily approached, toying with excuses, ways to dodge a conversation.

Lucio glided to a stop just in front of him, the hard light skates having no trouble cutting cleanly across the ground. “Hey man,” he said, the greeting somewhat awkward, a faint hint of caution in his tone. He hesitated, clearly waiting for a response, but when Junkrat said nothing he shifted, holding out a small package.

Curiosity got the better of him. “What's that, eh?”

“Dinner. Some kind of pastry I think, dunno what they called it but it tasted pretty good... Mercy said it might be nice to bring you some... We've got rations, but you know... you, uh, forget sometimes and... I just thought you could do with something proper to eat I guess...”

“Nah, I'm good.”

“Dude, seriously... it's not that bad. Just try it at least?”

He was tempted to refuse, but Lucio looked so expectant he found his resolve wavering. Junkrat took the package in one hand, reluctant to drop his frag launcher. Cautiously he unfolded part of the wrapping and gave it a careful sniff. It smelt fucking _amazing_.

Hunger he'd all but forgotten stirred painfully. He froze for a moment, deliberating over the decision. Then he set the frag launcher aside, devouring the food in a frenzy.

Lucio said nothing while he ate, just stood there. It was only once Junkrat was licking the crumbs from his fingers that he spoke up.

“So, uh, Mercy and Hector are both still looking through data in the basement, but Symmetra set up cameras on the path up here and me and Hana... and her... we're taking turns watching the footage so the rest can catch some shut eye. I mean, there's no spare beds but there's plenty of blankets and pillows and it's not so bad. So... uh, if you want to come in, there's no need for you to be out here man, if you want to join us I mean.”

Junkrat shook his head as he wiped his fingers off on his shorts. “Ta but no thanks mate.”

“Come on dude, you can't just stay out here all night.”

Junkrat grimaced. Didn't have a choice really, did he? He knew for a fact he wasn't catching any shut eye in this situation, and he certainly wasn't going to lie down and remove his prosthetics. If he was going to stay awake he might as well be outside where he could keep an eye on his surroundings. “Nothin' wrong with out here.” He picked up his frag launcher again. “Doc's always sayin' fresh air is good an' all.”

Lucio just stared at him. Exactly what emotion he was working through Junkrat wasn't sure, but after a moment Lucio shook himself and when he looked back at Junkrat again his expression was troubled. “Are you... alright?”

Junkrat shrugged. “Stumps ache a bit, that'll be the cold though, does that to ya. Ain't got nothin' for ya to patch up so to speak.”

“Dude, you know what I mean.”

“I said I'm fine, yeah? What more do ya want?”

“You know what? No. You're not fine,” Lucio declared abruptly, tipping his chin up in fresh defiance and seeking Junkrat's flighty gaze. He took a shaky breath. “You've been acting weird ever since you got on the drop ship man, and you're trying to avoid me, I'm not stupid. Look... I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I blamed you. I should have known you'd have nothing to do with it, that you wouldn't _do_ that to me, but I just don't think straight when it comes to Vishkar and it was just... the only explanation that seemed to fit... why Symmetra would be here... I'm just sorry, okay? And... and if it makes you feel better I'll try being nicer to her, alright? If that's what you need me to do I'll try, but please, you gotta give me something to work with here...”

“It ain't that...”

“It's not?” he asked, surprise hitching his voice. “Then what...” he trailed off, a frown settling on his features. “If it's not me then what is it?”

Still Junkrat said nothing.

Lucio sighed in exasperation. “Dude, I'm trying to help, why can't you just tell me? What are you...” A sudden thought seemed to occur to him, a dawning realization spread across his face as he finished. “...afraid of?”

But Junkrat couldn't say anything. If there was one thing his time in the outback had taught him with absolute certainty it was that you never admitted weakness. To do so was as good as asking for someone to shoot you. Despite all his anxiety he'd always known to grin, to bare his teeth, to handle his explosives with a casual exuberance that let everyone know how _happy_ he'd be to use them if given a reason. It was how he had survived. Make yourself a threat, never a victim. He couldn't talk of the steady panic still running through his veins, the tension aching in his muscles, the way his entire body felt ready to snap at the drop of a hat.

Lucio's tone went soft, gentle, calming. “Me and Hana... we're your friends, you know that? You can trust us. Friends look out for each other. We'll always look out for you.”

How that made him feel wasn't something Junkrat knew the words for. It twisted something in his chest, and he wished that was enough, enough to fix it all, to rid him of this terrible unease, but it was not.

Junkrat laughed weakly, a poor approximation of his usual gleeful cackle. “Appreciate it mate, but this here ain't so easy to reason with,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “Believe me I've tried.”

“Well,” Lucio said eventually, “you still shouldn't sit out here by yourself all night. If you won't go inside, then maybe me and Hana can bring some blankets out or something... is that okay?”

Junkrat opened his mouth, not entirely sure what he intended to say. Whatever it was he never got the chance.

In his ear the communications channel crackled to life, D.Va's voice sharp and clear with none of her usual nonsense. “Rat, Lucio, do you copy?”

Lucio was the first to recover. “Uh, yeah, we're here,” he said, glancing back at the shack, “what's up?”

“It's-” but Junkrat tuned out the rest of what she said. He already knew. In the distance he heard with absolute clarity the booming echo of the first of his traps being triggered, and there were no doubts in his mind as to what that meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Very sleep deprived at the moment so I expect there are plenty of typos I can't spot, so feel free to point them out if you like and I'll tidy up. In any case I hope this wasn't too bad, at the very least things will be happening next chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

Energy seared through his veins like flame to a gasoline trail, attention snapping immediately to the pathway up the hill.

Damn... Couldn't see anything yet.

He'd built it to be a bonafide death trap. Half his supplies were buried there, lying in wait for exactly this, but it was not a foolproof plan.

He needed to be closer, work out who it was and make them as utterly _fuckin'_ dead as they possibly could be, because there was no way he was letting anyone last long enough to be a threat. He'd blow them to smithereens before they took three steps. He'd burn them _alive_ if it came to it. He'd laugh in absolute glee as explosions shook the ground because if there was one thing Junkrat excelled at it was chaos, unbridled and unrelenting, and _oh_ was he spoiling for a fight.

He'd show them exactly what happened to folk that thought he was easy pickings, he'd show them what happened if they _dared_ to invade his territory. If he gave in to that fury then finally panic couldn't touch him. Kill or be killed. The simplest equation in the outback. When it all boiled down to something so simple it was effortless.

"Rat- Junkrat, wait!" Lucio called, managing to shake him from his train of thought.

He paused, glancing back at the DJ.

"Hana, Mercy and the others are all on their way, just hang back for a minute, yeah?"

Junkrat forced himself to keep still, to find some slither of coherence through the fire raging inside. Lucio was right, he supposed. Hog wasn't here but they were. Made sense to stay out of sight for now, his traps would buy them time, what mattered was holding the high ground.

He wanted to destroy something. To end this fight quickly and prove that challenging him was the absolute worst decision any enemy could make. If he could do that then things would be okay again... he'd be safe... but just because he had a target, somewhere to finally direct all of that adrenaline, didn't mean it was the best decision.

He hated waiting. He'd never been level headed. But traps were made so that you could wait, so that you could stay out of harm's way, he knew that. He'd never been a fool, no matter what people thought.

"Yeah, gotcha," he bit out, teeth clenched as if to hold in the pressure bubbling within him - his most terrifying version of a smile. "Tell 'em to hurry though."

As Lucio relayed his message the air above them shimmered and a domed shield began to spread out across the hilltop from a series of relay points. Symmetra's work, enough to protect them from any aerial attacks.

"Come on, we'll meet them at the door," Lucio urged, making sure Junkrat was listening before he glided off.

Junkrat clunked behind, eyes still fixed on the pathway. He measured the angle silently, shooting off a lone frag where it bounced out of view. Just to see it would hit, he thought, a quick test. He listened and caught the chime and dull _whump_ as it exploded seconds later, but no screams. Perhaps there weren't many. Perhaps his traps had put a stop to any approach they intended to take.

Him and Lucio were just closing in on the shack when the door burst open and D.Va emerged. She didn't wave, just went straight for her mech.

Mercy, Symmetra and Hector were just behind.

"I don't understand," Mercy was saying, a look of deep concern on her face. "Given their knack for tracking our movements we anticipated they might make an appearance but we expected a small force at best... nothing like this... and with no key operatives either? Are you sure you could not identify any?"

"Neither me nor miss Song were able to see more than standard agents," Symmetra confirmed, "I do not know whose orders they are following."

"Ya got a good squizz at 'em then?" Junkrat asked, attention switching over to her. "On a scale of one to ten, how royally fucked are we?"

Symmetra frowned. "I estimated perhaps fifty Talon agents before our cameras were destroyed. There may be more, but numbers are certainly not in our favor."

"Well however many of them there are, they're not taking my hard work," Hector spat. He had his silver gun in his hand, gleaming dangerously in the glow of Lucio's aura. Whether he used it frequently or not, he'd certainly kept it polished.

"We have a good defensive position," Symmetra said. "So long as we do not allow them take it from us then the battle is not lost."

"Of course not," Mercy reassured them. "I'll send a request through to Jack for backup, we can hold them here for now. Hana, are you able to give Satya cover while she sets up a barrier for us to work behind?"

"Easy!" D.Va said, piloting the mech forward.

Symmetra looked uncomfortable in the wake of the clomping machine, but she followed, hand already extended and ready to weave her creation into being. "I will let you know once it is prepared."

Junkrat heard another explosion.

"Bugger me," he muttered, eyes going wide. That was his seventh trap, he recognized the sound. They'd already bypassed a good third of his work, and he wished he knew how because he'd been pretty damn sneaky by all accounts.

"That one of yours?" Lucio asked.

Junkrat nodded. "Might'a killed a few of 'em but doubt they'd all be packed too tight. They're on their way up, no doubts," he said, grip tightening on his frag launcher. "Gotta give 'em some pressure, show 'em they ain't takin' ground for free. In the perfect spot right now, what's a bottleneck's for, right?"

He had to stop them in their tracks. Show them that there was something to fear, to rain destruction upon them, to burn _everything_ because it was all he knew how to do.

" _Wait,_ " Lucio insisted again, catching his arm before he could take more than a step.

Junkrat flinched, it took a great deal of concentration not to level his weapon at the smaller man. If it had been Hector he probably just would have shot him. But it didn't matter what his instinctive reaction to someone grabbing him unexpectedly was, Lucio was trying to help, somehow he still understood that.

Lucio offered a small, encouraging smile. "Just... wait till the barrier's ready, yeah?"

Junkrat's eyes darted from their group to D.Va and back again. "Well it bleedin' better be quick."

Jittering on the spot he allowed Lucio to hold him back, seconds ticking by all too slowly. At last he caught the blue ripple of Symmetra's shield forming up ahead, and a moment later her voice sounded over the coms.

"Barrier in place, it will provide cover for now but we are already under fire. There is... something else I do not recognize approaching."

"Thank you Satya, we'll join you immediately," Mercy said smoothly, gesturing to the rest of them to move. Junkrat didn't need further prompting.

No sooner had Mercy spoken than he was lurching across the grass as fast as his leg would allow, pulse thudding in his ears. He skidded to a stop besides Symmetra's crouched form, swearing under his breath. "Hooley dooley, the fuck is that?"

"I told you, I do not recognize it," Symmetra snapped back, clearly unsettled.

Advancing up the pathway was the ugliest machine Junkrat had seen. It's body was thick, made of heavy oblong segments with short stubby legs to carry it, almost like an insect. Two poles held a barrier curving over its front where its sensors were built and along its back, and an assortment of spindly arms whisked across the ground with rapid, spider-like movements.

A line of black clad figures followed patiently behind it. Talon agents, Junkrat had seen enough of them to recognize the get up. They were already firing, their bullets pummeling Symmetra's freshly cast shield, but he found his attention focused almost entirely on the machine.

"It has no offensive capabilities that I have seen so far," she said.

Junkrat just laughed bitterly. "It's huntin' for me traps is what. Knew those twats weren't smart enough to find 'em so easily."

But how the fuck had they known? How had they known that they would need a thing like that? It wasn't like he went on every mission, wasn't like he'd bumped into the thing before... why was now different?

"Is it some kinda... Omnic piece of trash?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"It is no Omnic I recognize."

"They're not all the same," D.Va said quietly. "The one MEKA formed to fight was unique. It kept changing every time."

Lucio looked doubtful. "Might just be a drone of some kind."

"Well it's goin' back to the scrap heap, whatever it is," Junkrat declared. "Just gotta deal with that bloody shield."

Symmetra’s gaze was intent, centered on the machine. She nodded. "I can penetrate shields but I am uncertain if I can take it down quickly enough, its armor appears heavy."

"Shields are no problem for me either," Hector said as he caught up, Mercy at his heels. "We can focus it together."

Junkrat was thinking though. How did it work? Was it some kind of... freakish, sentient metal detector? It hadn't spotted all his traps, what were the ones it'd missed, what was different about them?

He scrabbled through his bag, searching for the right detonator. When he found it he passed it immediately to Lucio.

His expression was stunned. "What-"

"Ya press that button when I tell ya, right? Reckon it'll miss that one, just gotta wait till it's over the top of it."

"But don't you want to-"

"Nah mate. Gotta teach these drongos a lesson. Think they're safe behind a shield, bet they ain't even heard of bankin' a shot." He knew he was grinning then, all sharp teeth and wicked energy. "Lets see how safe they feel in a minute, eh?"

Junkrat angled his frag launcher and let loose. Each explosive ricocheted off steep walls of the pathway, falling past the shield into the ranks of Talon below. Death rained from above. Immediately, panic hit.

It was riveting, really, the way such a calm advance fell into disarray. Several died quickly, but others were not so fortunate – torn asunder and left stranded in the line of fire. Junkrat found he was laughing, as much from exhilaration as mania.

He'd long ago lost count of the people he'd killed for threatening his own life, the novelty had worn thin, but somehow it still seemed like an absurd kind of karma to Junkrat. They wanted a piece of him? He _gave_ it to them, the piece he held closest to his heart. Quickly they realized their mistake, but by then it was already too late, Junkrat was too busy reveling in the glorious destructive force he kept as his constant companion. It was their fault, their choice, he'd kill anyone he had to in order to stay alive, that's just what Junkers did. Surrender was never an option. No need to waste remorse, to shed tears for what had to be done, fury and giddy desperation were all he really had to feel. Talon would earn no quarter from him.

By the time they managed to cobble together a proper response he'd already downed a dozen. The riot shields they pulled out went some way to deflecting his frags but they were clearly not built for it and the sheer unpredictable nature of his projectiles made the process a nightmare. They pushed forward but it wasn't with the steady confidence of before but a grim determination, ignoring those who fell.

Unable to hit Junkrat they settled for unloading into the shield he stood behind creating a continual patter of bullets. Junkrat pulled a face at them. He used his other hand to lob a grenade, watching the way they staggered back.

His real focus was on the machine though.

"Now Lucio," Junkrat yelled, eyes bright with anticipation.

"Oh, right." Fumbling for a second, Lucio pressed the detonator.

The blast rocked the hill as he laughed, magnificent in gold and red and oh so perfectly loud. Smoke clogged the air, acrid but familiar, like the scent of gasoline or the sting of chemicals he was ever fond of mixing. Despite the pounding of his heart he almost felt at home.

Then the wind stirred, whisking the smoke aside.

"Shit," he cursed, baring his teeth in frustration.

While the explosion had easily cut through the closest Talon agents, the machine was still moving, still crawling forward as it casual dismantled his carefully laid traps. He could see cracks spiderwebbing its body but it didn't slow and nor did it lower its shield.

"Why ain't it dead? Thought you was weakenin' it?" he demanded, glancing at Symmetra and Hector, both of whom glared back.

"I believe I told you its armor is heavy," Symmetra replied, though her voice was somewhat unsteady, her hands shaking.

"Well finish it off."

"Calm yourself kid, we're working on it," Hector muttered, still shooting.

It wasn't quick enough though. Junkrat could tell. That bloody bot was letting them carve their way up that bottleneck. Sure, he'd hit a sizable chunk of them but it was nothing compared to what him and the rest of the team could do without a shield in the way, without his traps being so easily uncovered. They needed it gone. They needed those advantages to make up for how hopelessly outnumbered they were. Maybe he could use his RIP-tire... but judging by how the machine had survived his last explosion he didn't want to risk wasting it just yet.

He tore through his bag, grabbing anything he thought might arc over the shield properly, something with a big enough radius to still hit the back end of the machine.

Finding a collection of suitable bombs he leaned back, tossing them one by one. Why wouldn't it die? Why wouldn't it just _die_?

"My barrier is weakening," Symmetra warned.

"I'm blocking what I can," D.Va told her, defense matrix spreading forward intermittently to absorb returning fire. "We got this, just hold on."

Under the endless assault the machine was faltering now, slowing as it pushed the last few feet up the hill. Just a little more, Junkrat thought, still shooting his launcher while he fished through his supplies. Once it was gone the job would be easier.

"I-I cannot maintain it," Symmetra said, voice urgent.

A white line streaked across the battlefield, and with a final shot from Hector's gun the machine slumped.

"'bout time mate," Junkrat cried, turning his attention to the Talon agents behind it. Far too late for his liking though, his traps were already ruined and the Talon agents were pushing hard, attempting to climb over the fallen body of the machine and spill out onto the hill. The first few were struck down by Symmetra's turrets, but those behind blasted them down.

At the same time her barrier shattered.

"Fall back to the house," Mercy called. "Hana, cover us."

"What? Ya daft?" Junkrat demanded, rearing his head in outrage. "Can't let 'em up here! We do that, they got the upper hand again. Hold 'em here their numbers don't mean shit."

"That was an order Jamison. We'll reengage once Satya has recovered, we can't fight out in the open."

"Rat, come on," Lucio urged, switching auras.

"Nah, ya back down now we're screwed," he insisted, slapping another magazine into his launcher.

He wasn't stupid. If Talon took control of the battlefield, they'd have an assured victory. They couldn't just give up ground. They needed to fight for it tooth, nail and claw.

"Jamison," Mercy barked, voice stern as she backed up with Hector and Symmetra at her side.

"I said I ain't goin'," he snapped back, focussing instead on the enemy.

Sometimes you didn't have a choice. Sometimes you had to take a fight you didn't want because it was better than the one you'd get if you didn't. He'd tear them all to bits, make them want to run back down that hill and _never_ come back, he'd kill them for so much as _thinking_ they had the upper hand here. If he ran away they'd know what an easy target they were facing. They'd take the hill, they'd hunt them down... That couldn't happen. Kill or be killed. That's all this was. Right here, right now, they needed to put Talon in their place.

"Dude," Lucio said, "I'm not leaving you behind."

"Well then we're stayin'."

"...You're not giving me much choice."

"Both of you need to back the hell up," D.Va said, defense matrix flickering in front of her. "I can't keep this up for long."

"No can do," Junkrat responded brightly as he tore a grenade from his harness, lobbing it at the closest Talon agents. "Got some folk here just _askin'_ for a barbeque. Ya with us or what?"

He heard her groan over the screams as his grenade exploded in a sudden burst of searing heat. "Just get to cover as soon as you can?"

Junkrat wasn't listening though. All that mattered was Talon, and how they needed to die. With Lucio's aura flooding him with energy he didn't even know he had, he finally had the chance to unleash all he contained – anger, desperation, glee, and enough firepower to level a palace. That was what survival was all about. That's what two decades in the cut-throat land of the outback had taught him. This was where he excelled.

Bullets whisked past too close to even think about, Junkrat simply shot back. Hard for them to aim while under barrage. He could even see the glowing green of Lucio's projectiles mixed amongst his own, hardly designed with the same lethal intentions but they served well enough to push Talon back.

Each moment seemed to bleed into the next, he had no idea how long passed between each shuddering breath. He had no idea how many died. It was an endless loop of slaughter. All he knew was that it wasn't over, and until it was, he couldn't back down.

He pulled another grenade from his harness, tossing it to where Talon was still trying to spread out onto the hilltop. Then one of them threw it back.

For a moment Junkrat was shocked. The possibility had never really occurred to him, not in any tangible sense. Yet here he was, standing beside one of his own grenades as the timer ticked down, only just remembering to stagger back.

The blast roared through his ears, knocking him flat onto his back. And his RIP-tire was _not_ pleasant to land on. As he tried to blink the bright spots from his vision something slammed into his side, and he turned his head to see Lucio, curled across him as if his small body could somehow protect him.

 _Shit_ . That was right. He was lying prone right in front of a line of armed Talon agents who _had_ to be very pissed at him by now, the easiest shot in the world.

And there was no Roadhog. No one to pull him out of this now that he'd gone and fucked it up, no one... Lucio was just going to get himself killed and all of it was pointless, entirely his fault... And he guessed he should have seen it coming but it didn't stop the sudden terror sparking in his heart. All of that fear came rushing back. Why had he come here? Why had he ever thought this was a good idea? There was no Roadhog, and finally his borrowed time was at an end.

He shoved Lucio off, struggling to sit, to snatch up a bomb, anything in his last moments.

Talon fired.

The bullets ricocheted off the massive bulk of D.Va's mech as she boosted forward. Her defense matrix was spent with no opportunity to recharge but it didn’t stop her.

Junkrat stared. The paint was ruined, the metal dented and streaked with leaking fluids, smoke trailing from the back. How much of a beating she'd been taking over the last few minutes he had no idea but she'd clearly been receiving the brunt of Talon's attacks. Still she stood between them, shielding them from harm. He heard her curse in Korean.

"I thought I told you idiots to get to cover."

He found himself giggle, an instinctive reaction despite his own panic. "Yeah... ain't the best at followin' orders I guess."

Something heavy thunked the side of her mech and it lurched, struggling to regain its balance. D.Va cursed again.

"Get back alright?" she said, piloting the mech around. She hit the boosters, flying right at the cluster of Talon agents before ejecting. The mech continued to sail forward as she tumbled back, glowing green with energy as it shuddered, curling in on itself. The implications finally seemed to dawn on the Talon agents. They scrabbled to flee, but too late.

D.Va's mech exploded in a gigantic surge of light, vaporizing all in its vicinity. The volume was immense. The shockwave surged out, sending a rush of dead air sweeping across the trembling earth and thundering past Junkrat's ears as the entire world seemed to drown in blinding iridescence. The ground cracked, the sides of the path collapsed. Then it fell still and all that remained was the scorched earth and a deathly shroud of silence.

Junkrat stood up, stunned, captivated by the carnage. "Bloody beautiful," he murmured. He'd have to remember to ask her how that worked once they got back to headquarters. Had to be something to do with how the thing was powered. If he could find a way to replicate-

"Rat, snap out of it," Lucio called from just ahead. He hadn't even realized the DJ had moved.

Junkrat blinked, shaking himself. Somehow thanks to D.Va they were both still alive and now was not the time to get distracted. He needed to keep his eyes on the pathway, be ready for anyone trying to return. The end of it had collapsed but they could climb over with some trouble... they couldn't all be dead, it wasn't over with. He had to stay alert.

But he could see D.Va on the ground, Lucio crouched at her side, and her face was twisted in a grimace of pain.

Tearing his eyes from the ruins of the pathway he limped over.

"I can heal up scrapes and I can dull the pain, but I think it might be broken," Lucio was saying, hands gently testing her ankle. Must have landed awkwardly when she ejected. "It's- no, don't try standing up I just told you-"

"I can't just sit here," she insisted.

"We've gotta get you to Mercy, okay? Rat, can you help?"

They needed to keep watch, couldn't afford to give Talon the opportunity to regroup... That's what he should be doing, that was the smart thing... but D.Va was hurt and Lucio was looking up at him anxiously and somehow that seemed vastly more important.

Junkrat scowled, then after a brief hesitation he thrust his frag launcher at Lucio. "Hang onto that."

Bewildered, Lucio took it, and with his hands free Junkrat stooped to pick D.Va up.

"Hey, thought it was my job to carry people," she said as he slipped an arm under her knees and another around her back, staggering to his feet. He could tell she was teasing despite the pain.

"Nah, just means it's someone else's turn," he said lightly. Her weight was hardly a problem, he was used to lugging heavier things than D.Va around, but his awkward gait probably made it a strange experience for her. "That was a bloody good explosion back there... reckon I probably owe ya one, only fair. Can ya call down another one of them mechs?"

"Yeah, but it'll take hours for MEKA to fly one close enough to drop. I'm not gonna be able to bail you two out next time."

"Sorry," Lucio said quietly.

She reached out to poke him in the arm. "Hey, don't worry about it, it bought us a few minutes at least and I'd rather lose a mech than you guys okay?"

He smile softly. "Yeah..."

"I mean it. Would help if you both listened to orders though."

"I was listenin'," Junkrat said.

"Yep, and ignoring everything, stunts like that are why people tilt." With this, D.Va sighed and closed her eyes. "Just... try not to get yourself killed. I know you probably think you're right but teams have a shot caller for a reason."

"I'll keep it in mind," he muttered.

They were closing in on the shack when Mercy and the others appeared, the wings of her valkyrie suit lighting up as she glided the rest of the distance. Her blue eyes were wide with concern. "Are you alright? We heard the blast..."

"I'm fine," D.Va said, "just hurt my leg."

Lucio was having none of it. He shook his head vehemently, voice rising an octave. "Hey, you're _not_ alright, don't play the hero. Could you take a look at her Angela? I... I think her ankle might be broken but I'm not sure, I'm not a real doctor or anything..."

"Of course," Mercy said kindly. "I'll do what I can. You can put her down now Jamison."

Obligingly Junkrat bent to set D.Va on the ground, careful not to knock her leg. Mercy knelt beside her, fingers ghosting over the injury with practiced efficiency.

D.Va clenched her teeth but made no sound.

"What about Talon?" Hector asked. "You get the lot of them?"

"Nah, don't reckon so anyways," Junkrat said after a moment, scratching at the back of his neck. "Made 'em think twice though. It'll take the lot what survived a bit to get back over... might wanna keep an eye out, dunno what they're up to."

"Noted. Miss Vaswani, ready for another of those barriers?"

Symmetra still seemed shaken, but steadier than she had previously been. Her expression was perfectly composed. "A little while longer. It is... not as effortless as it appears."

Junkrat let his attention wander across the hill, back to the wreckage D.Va's mech had left. Maybe this was an opportunity to set a few traps up... no, stupid idea, he'd be caught out in the open. He needed to do something though, couldn’t just stand around wasting time. His peg leg began to tap.

"Um... Rat?"

He looked across to where Lucio still held his frag launcher. "Right, ta."

He accepted it back, a sudden thought occurring to him. Junkrat rummaged through his bag. He swore.

" _Verdammt,_ " Mercy said suddenly, echoing his own sentiment. She looked apologetic. "Lucio's quite right, this will need to be set and given proper time to heal, it's not something I can fix here. I can numb the pain but you'll need to stay off of it for the moment."

"Great," D.Va said without enthusiasm.

"I'm not a miracle worker I'm afraid, next time you'll just have to be a little more careful."

She huffed, the classic picture of a petulant teenager. "Got it."

"Everything will be okay," Mercy reassured her. She lay a hand on her shoulder and offered her usual smile, perfectly bright and perfectly mechanical in equal parts. "Take it easy and once we get back to headquarters I'll have you on your feet again in a week, you have my promise. Now... can I leave you in Lucio's care for a moment? I'd quite like a private word with Jamison."

D.Va laughed, a weak grin falling into place. She looked over at Junkrat where he still hovered. "Oh, have at him," she encouraged.

Junkrat watched warily as Mercy stood up. He couldn't read her, not now, not while he still had so much washing around in his head... but he could make a guess.

"If you would?" she asked politely, gesturing a short distance away from the group.

He grit his teeth. "Sure."

Following her, he waited until she turned to face him, drawing a deep breath.

"Alright," he began before she had a chance to speak, "I know ya probably pissed an' I get why, but I ain't apologizing. You was gonna let 'em up that hill, lose us the best advantage we had, just cos you didn't want a proper fight... an' I don't like gettin' shot at if I can avoid it either but ya can't just let folk _take_ , you get me?"

"Could you keep your voice down please?"

"We had to stop 'em there... had to kill 'em, or we'd be surrounded, we'd be _fucked_. Had to stop 'em and we did. Maybe just for a while but better than what _you_ wanted. So... I ain't sorry. I'm sorry Hana busted her leg but I'm not sorry for doin' what I did, yeah?"

"That's not what this is about."

Junkrat paused. "Eh?"

Her voice was hushed, posture curled forward slightly as if it could contain the conversation between them. "Your decision was questionable, but we have other problems. Do you... remember what I asked you, in the bunker? About destroying it..."

Junkrat thought for a second, recalling the same perfect smile she had worn back then, and the uneasy feeling that had run up his spine. "Yeah..."

"I need you to do that now."

"What? That ain't a priority. I'm runnin' low on supplies okay, we're gonna need what I got left to deal with them Talon pricks when they come back-"

"Listen," she cut in coolly, "Jamison, even with all that you and the others have done we are still outnumbered. Hana has lost her mech, and neither me nor Satya or Lucio are frontline soldiers. There is no rescue. Jack has dispatched a team but it will be hours before they arrive. Whatever happens, Talon must not get the information stored here. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

He bit his lip, eyes darting as if finding some way to deny it all, but there was nothing. The stark reality of the situation was plain as day. "Bleedin' hell..."

"Indeed."

He shook himself. "But nah, all the more reason not to waste these, right?" he said, gesturing to his bag. "We gotta kill 'em good an' proper, then they ain't stealin' nothin', best shot we have. Can't just give up-"

"This is not giving up," Mercy promised. "It might be our best chance. If we destroy what Talon are here for then they have no need to attack, they've already sustained heavy losses. Hector won't like it but I can make excuses for your absence and keep him occupied if you act quickly... go now."

He stared for a moment, still hardly believing it. He supposed he could see her reasoning but still... "You sure-"

"Yes. This needs to happen and I trust you to get it done. Call me on the private channel if anything happens, just hurry." She sent him a final pleading look before she turned away, walking back toward the group.

Junkrat studied her retreating figure. She had a good point, made it sound all reasonable... but it ran in direct opposition of his instincts. The enemy was up here... he needed to be ready to destroy _them_ , not whatever Hector was hoarding... He itched to shoot, to attack simply because that was what he did when backed into a corner - responded with all the ferocity he had. Not to let them get away with it...

But Mercy thought this was their best chance, for all of them, and it was something only he could do... he had to believe, somehow, that she was right... that he wasn't making the dumbest mistake of his life. The longer he waited the worse the odds became.

He risked a cursory glance over to where Lucio, D.Va, and Symmetra were still gathered.

With a string of curses he turned back to the shack. Didn't really have a choice did he?

It was warm inside, the lights still on, just as it had been left. Junkrat moved through it with purpose, finding the open hatch to the bunker below.

He took a deep breath, silencing the anxiety that threatened to surface now that it came to entering the tomb-like chamber, clunking his way down the steps and refusing to look back.

He thought for a moment that he caught a shimmer between the gleaming lights of the data bank as he descended. Then he shook his head and it was gone. Needed to focus.

Junkrat set his mind to the task, re-running a few calculations as he decided how to rig the place. Charges would have to be spread out, a chain reaction. He had enough for the job but it wouldn't leave him with much. He was already down to his last clip for his frag launcher, and while he could spare the RIP-tire, he'd be left with a few concussion mines and a grenade or two at best, a pitiful arsenal. Better be worth it.

He moved to the back of the bunker, crouching as he set his bag down and pulled each carefully chosen explosive from it in turn. They were placed with tenderness, wires strung between them like a poor man's decorations. This, at least, was his element.

Junkrat was onto his third pile when a sound caught his attention. He wasn't quite sure what it was. A whisper of air, a faint clink, _something_ that shot straight to his instincts and caused him to spin in a flurry to face whatever it was. He froze, taking in the silver and purple SMG leveled at his head.

The woman holding it was smiling, a sly, almost taunting smile.

" _Hola_ , Rat," she said, drawling the words out. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

 _Shit_. Junkrat licked his lips, eying the weapon. He didn't recognize the woman, she didn't look like any of the black clad Talon agents above though, that was for sure. "The hell are you?"

She quirked one eyebrow up. Maybe she was pleased. Maybe she was displeased. It was damn hard to tell when she looked so entirely self-satisfied as her finger teased the trigger of her gun, taking in Junkrat's nervous gaze. "You don't remember me? Awww, _qué triste_. I know who _you_ are. _I_ never forget a face."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I'd include an information bank without introducing Sombra did you?  
> In any case, I feel... dubious about this chapter, but let's just keep moving forward. I'm already halfway through the next one so hopefully it won't take too long.  
> And a quick shoutout to Varmint for doing some proofreading.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence? Maybe skip ahead if that's not your thing

Junkrat's memory was sketchy at the best of times. He'd never found any particular rhyme or reason to what he forgot, save that names would often take awhile to sink in, generally he was forced to accept that no matter what, there would always be gaps he wasn't even aware of. Most of the time it wasn't a problem. Most of the time Roadie was there to set him straight if it was. Now, however, he felt himself at a severe disadvantage.

He watched the woman, trying to find something familiar. She was clad in an obscene mix of vibrant purples, pinks and blues, silver accenting her overcoat and the long nails extending from her gloves. Even her hair was tinted at the ends, half of it shaven away to allow for the augments reaching to her temple to be seen. Everything from her garb to the way she held herself should have been memorable. Yet Junkrat found nothing lurking in the back of his head.

"So... ya know me then?" he asked, eyes still drawn to the gun. It hadn't wavered an inch.

"Oh, I should think so. Dorado? No? Not ringing any bells?"

Ah, that he did remember. Him and Roadhog had run a heist there, they'd lived like kings for days after on the spoils. "Good bank there... took a small withdrawal."

" _Si_. You and your friend helped yourself to a lot of gold while I was busy with LumeriCo, a nice distraction wouldn't you say? How would you feel about returning the favor?"

Considering his position he didn't have have much of a choice. "If ya wanna work somethin' out I'm listenin'."

She lowered the gun slightly and he remained where he was crouched, body tense but motionless. Junkrat could tell despite her casual posture she was watching him, waiting to see if he would make a move. He still had a bomb beneath the fingers of his left hand. Part of him itched to use it but he knew that was a bad idea, they were too close together and it would take time to detonate. If he wanted to risk a fight the better option was his frag launcher, resting on the ground just by his knee. He could snatch it now, end this, but if she pulled the trigger first...

"Now, here's what I'm thinking..." she said, "there's no reason for us to be enemies, I'm not here to hurt anyone... all I want is to take what I came for and then I'm gone, all _you_ have to do is be a good boy and wait. Then... maybe I'll drop by for a chat some day... you have some secrets people would be _very_ interested in, Jamison Fawkes. I think we could be good friends."

"Don't even know ya name, sheila."

"Call me Sombra."

"Ya part of Talon huh?"

"Maybe. Do we have an agreement?"

Junkrat weighed his options. _Whatever happens Talon must not get the information stored here_ , Mercy had said. He could still picture the intense look on her face, as if willing him to understand the importance of her words. But why was it his problem?

He'd never much cared about Talon's plans, save that he got paid for getting in their way. He'd never joined Overwatch to save the world. All he'd wanted were selfish things, things he'd grasped for on a whim without really knowing why.

If Sombra got what she wanted then she would leave, and Talon would have no need to attack anymore, he and the rest of the team could go home... that was the reason he'd come down here in the first place, wasn't it?

"Well, Rat? What'll it be?"

_Shit_. There was no Roadhog here, maybe it was best to just go along with things... but... _but_... the doc wanted that information buried for a reason, and whatever she wanted to hide couldn't be what they'd supposedly come here for. Junkrat wasn't stupid. There'd be no point in stopping Talon retrieving data on themselves. So it had to be something else...

"You get what ya want from down here then and when ya go Talon goes too? No one gets hurt? Seems too good to be true if ya ask me... Plenty of 'em dead now, ya ain't holdin' a grudge or nothin'? It that special?"

She shrugged. "I told you, _no te preocupes_ , I'm not here to hurt anyone. All I want is your cooperation... _but_ the longer you take to make your mind up the worse it looks for your little friends above, no?"

Junkrat narrowed his eyes. Whatever the information was didn't matter, he was certain now – Sombra was a threat.

She knew how to smile, how to speak in an almost playful tone… yet behind it all there was a cunning he did _not_ like, not one bit. How skilled she was with her gun he wasn’t sure, but she was clearly the sort of person who liked to toy with other people – he'd seen a few of those back in Junkertown. They were always dangerous. Trusting them was the last mistake a person would make. Often literally.

"Got a counter offer for ya right here," he said. "You fuck off an' I won't have to blast ya into tiny pieces. Sound good?"

Her smile faded, expression growing dark as she raised her gun again. "Careful, _amigo_ , don't want to go making a fool of yourself."

"Right back at ya," Junkrat said. He grinned. He didn't intend it to be friendly. "If ya know me, if ya know anythin' about me, then ya know I don't take well to threats... ya know I've been on the run for years... and ya know what happened to anyone stupid enough to catch up. How much you wanna bet I don't have somethin' planned for a moment just like this, eh?"

She sighed. "I don't want to hurt you, Rat, but you're in the way."

"Shoot me an' this place goes up in flames, you along with it."

"You're bluffing. Your eye's twitching, can you tell? Poor little Rat, all alone, nobody to watch your back... must be terrible."

Somehow she knew, somehow she _fucking_ knew, like she was crawling around in his head, reading his every fear. Just the thought of it made him nauseous. She wasn't supposed to be _able_ to tell. His own weaknesses needed to stay under wraps, his threats needed their sting, she wasn't supposed to smirk at him like an adult spotting a child's pitiful attempt at covering up a lie. No, he had to hold it together.

Junkrat focused on keeping himself steady, hiding any trembles. He needed a new plan, a way to catch her off guard and use that to his advantage.

Sombra shook her head at him. "You don't want to play hero. You know there's no such thing."

"Shut up," he growled. _Think_. He needed to think. Couldn't let himself be intimidated like some spineless wuss.

"Come on, there's no need for this. I told you we could be friends, no? It would be such a shame to waste that opportunity. Think of Dorado. You could use a friend like me... Let me take what I want and you can do what you like with this place once I'm gone, who's to know any different, hmm?" she said, spare hand held palm up as if to air the question. Confident. Overconfident, dare he say. "It's just us here _,_ what's the point of risking your life when no one's even around to see, not even your notorious partner?"

Junkrat bristled. "Ya think I'm scared of ya?"

"I think you're smart enough to know this gun isn't just for show. This is your last chance, time's short and a girl only has so much patience. What'll it be?"

Junkrat stared at the gun. He scowled, gnawing on his lip for a moment. "Ya get this info you want... then all them Talon pricks are gone, you too, an' ya leave us be? I got ya word on that?"

"Of course."

He mulled it over for a second longer. This was the best shot he had really. "Alrighty then... Guess we got an understandin'."

Slowly he lifted his left hand away from the bomb he'd been working on, raising both arms up to show he wasn't hiding any sneaky detonators.

Sombra watched as he got to his feet. She smiled again, lowering her gun. " _Bueno_ , I'm glad-"

He punched her.

One great thing about having a metal arm, Junkrat reflected, was that it didn't matter if your technique was crap, it still hit like a steel pipe to the face.

She reeled back, blood gushing from her nose as she cursed in Spanish. Junkrat was already going for his frag launcher. At the same time though he saw her make a gesture with her hand and her form began to shimmer.

"No ya bloody well don't," he snarled. He left the launcher where it was, instead lunging forward to grab her by the collar of the coat. His fingers dug into the fabric. It had a strange texture, but he had no time to ponder it because she was already disappearing. His grip did not loosen. Before she had a chance to try and pull free he shoved with the weight of his body and the tire still strapped to his back and sent them toppling to the ground.

The landing was jarring, he hit his knee but was rewarded by the sound of her breath leaving her in an ' _oof_ ', her form flickering back into view.

Junkrat snatched for her gun. Immediately Sombra kicked out at his peg leg, gripping his harness as she upset his balance and twisted in one lithe movement, flipping them over. He hissed as his back slammed into his tire.

For a moment the pain stunned him. He was only just quick enough to bring a hand up to seize her wrist. Even so the spray of bullets grazed his shoulder as he grappled for control, his teeth clenched in a grimace. Her own expression was just as tense – no pretty smiles now. Blood was dripping steadily down her face, her eyes narrowed and lips set in a tight line of fury. He needed to end this quick. He wasn't going to lose. He wasn't going to die.

Junkrat threw her off, rolling onto his hands and knees as he dived after her and went for the gun once more, tussling in a livid tangle of limbs. An elbow hit him in the chin. He yanked her hair hard enough to draw a shriek. They clawed and bit and kicked across the floor like creatures possessed, senseless to any common decency.

Whatever happened, he knew he couldn't let her have the gun. Nor could he let her slip free enough to use her disappearing trick. His grenades were as much a danger to him as to her at this distance, he had to leave them untouched... but Junkrat knew how to take a beating, he'd weathered a savage brawl or two before in his time... just had to... end it.

He slammed them into one of the consoles, thin metal denting under the impact and Sombra gasped, eyes wide and dazed. Junkrat tried to pry the gun from her fingers but she shook herself. Suddenly she struck back, digging her nails into his injured shoulder until he was forced to forget the gun in a bid to stop her from cutting further into his flesh. _Fuck_ that hurt.

He smacked them into the consoles again sending sparks across his own vision. Her grip weakened and he scrabbled blindly with his right hand for the gun. Wires tangled his fingers instead. Junkrat pulled back, tearing them loose. Waste not want not.

With a surge of energy he slung the wires forward, wrapping them around Sombra's neck and yanking them taunt. She let out a startled ' _ugk'_ as her air was cut off and then her gaping mouth was silent, gaze boring into him with a special kind of hatred. He wound the wires around his right hand. With his left he gripped the arm she still fought to lift the gun with.

It was done. No matter how Sombra struggled, Junkrat refused to let go. It didn't matter how much it hurt, how she clawed or kicked or tossed them about, he knew if he just held on then he would win and with that thought in mind he found the strength to endure. The longer it lasted the weaker she grew. The longer it lasted the clearer the victor became.

Grinning through the pain he stared her down. "Still wanna be friends?"

She lashed out, raking her nails at his face and he snapped his eyes shut to keep from losing them... and when he opened them, she was gone.

The wires were slack in his hand.

He sat dumbfound, heart still pounding in his chest. Another trick?

Tentatively he stretched out to wave across the empty space where she had been seconds before but nothing connected. Sombra had vanished. And, like, none of that invisible magic bullshit neither, actual proper to god _disappeared_ , gun and all. Where she might have gone he had no clue.

Groaning with effort Junkrat staggered upright and let the wires fall from his grip, turning instead to limp back toward his frag launcher. His shoulder was still bleeding. Stung like crap, along with all the bruises and scrapes and cuts that littered his body, but he might have been able to ignore it if it weren't for the metallic taste lingering in his mouth. He spat blood, gently poking at one of his gold teeth to see if it was in danger of falling out. Didn't want to lose the thing.

"Ya still out there?" he asked the empty room, snatching his launcher up and turning to address it properly. "'Cos if ya are, wanna make meself clear. Don't _ever_ threaten me, or any of my mates, ever again! I ain't playin' around, and if you're thinkin' about a round two you're askin' to get burnt. I ain't lasted this long by bein' a pushover."

Silence met his declaration as he stood rooted to the spot, eyes flickering left and right in desperate search. Still nothing.

He fired three shots off in random directions, listening to the familiar ' _tink_ ' as they bounced across the ground and the warning buzz, quickly followed by a muted explosion. No Sombra though.

Junkrat tried to ease the tension in his muscles. There was only him and the flashing lights of the consoles, alone in the echoey tomb of the bunker.

Perhaps, he thought, she was gone for good. Probably needed to take a breather... _ha_ , no, that was a terrible attempt at a joke. Got a giggle out of him though, and damn if that wasn't therapeutic.

A crackle sounded in his ear and Junkrat flinched. A moment later he realized it was only the communications channel, Mercy's voice perfectly distinct despite the background noise.

"Jamison? Progress report?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "May have hit a few... potholes, so ta speak. No worries though, I got it sorted, just gonna take me a few mins. Ya doin' okay up there?"

"It's not looking favorable. I don't have time to speak, just please, hurry."

She ended the transmission before he had a chance to respond.

"Right..." Junkrat looked over at the open bag of explosives, still lying where he had left it when he'd begun to rig the place.

How had he planned to set it up again? He frowned, kneeling beside his work as he once again ran a few quick calculations and, as they usually did, things started to fall back into place. His hands moved deftly, arranging charges, stringing wires, cannibalizing bombs from his collection into his creation until it spanned across the entire bunker in a patchwork masterpiece. Beautiful, Junkrat thought, but only because he knew what it could do.

While he kept his ears pricked there was no sign of any return from Sombra, so as soon as he'd done a final check to make sure everything was in place, he backed up the stairs, detonator in hand. He left the duffel bag behind, there was more than enough room in his satchel for what he had left, as sobering as that fact was.

The shack was empty but he thought he detected the faint crack of gunfire in the distance. He didn't have time to worry about it. Mercy's tone alone had been clear on the urgency of the matter. Even though he liked to savor moments like these, with the key to destruction lying inert in his palm, awaiting his touch, he did not linger more than a second.

Slamming the hatch to the bunker Junkrat backed away a few paces and flicked the safety off.

"Kaboom," he uttered in one hushed breath, and squeezed the trigger.

The first blast was soft, muffled, like the backfire of an exhaust pipe from the battered old utes he remembered rattling around in his youth. The one that followed was louder. Each detonation built upon the last, a chain reaction rising to a cacophony that reverberated through the very timbers of the shack.

And Junkrat laughed, because of course he did. Nothing ever hit him quite the same as the sound of his own explosions. It was their volume, their distinct nuances, knowing that they were all his, _his -_ that he had shaped them, brought them to life - and that all the destruction that followed was purely by his design. That power was _his_. When he held it, the world felt right. It was exhilarating, intoxicating, it was-

"No no no no no..."

The words snapped him from his moment's indulgence. Junkrat spun around, frag launcher raised. Hector stood wide-eyed in the doorway to the room.

"No," he repeated, like somehow if he said it enough then reality would realize its mistake. His breathing was heavy, oversized coat disheveled. He appeared almost dazed.

Junkrat watched him warily, fully conscious of how his pathway from the room was currently blocked. Whether it was intentional or not it didn't sit well with his instincts. He paused for a moment, then decided to play it casual.

"Sorry mate," he said with a shrug. "Just doin' my job."

This, apparently, was not the right thing to say. The older man's gaze finally seemed to focus, latching onto Junkrat's figure with a sharp intensity. "You destroyed it, didn't you? You little _shit!_ You... you fucking-"

"Like I said, just doin' my job, nothin' personal about it. Ask the doc if ya like."

Hector was not so easily soothed. The rage working its way across his gaunt features was unmistakable, his very form seemed to puff up like an animal bristling at its foe. He pulled his gun out and leveled it at Junkrat. "That... was my _life's_ work. I think it's plenty personal."

Junkrat considered the silver gun, and how very familiar this situation felt. This time at least he had his frag launcher in his hand, although he was down to his last two shots... not that Hector was to know that.

"Look mate, I've already been through this whole song an' dance with some other dipstick, I ain't lookin' for a fight. Was just tech, right? Just data? No reason to go gettin' someone killed over that... specially not yerself."

"People are replaceable," Hector spat. In that moment, Junkrat was certain of one thing. Hector was going to pull the trigger. Junkrat knew, he'd learned how to read it, to see the decision written in someone's posture, in the tiny movements people made as they readied themselves. Junkrat fired first.

Two frags flew across the space between them, a shot whisking past his own ear as he lurched forward. Hector proved surprisingly nimble for a man of his years, dodging both projectiles, and Junkrat's swinging fist. Junkrat let his empty launcher clatter to the floor and snatched Hector's gun arm, angling it away from himself.

Hector responded with a sharp punch to the chest, a kick to the knee, and a hard enough shove to send them both pitching over. For the third time that night Junkrat landed on his RIP-tire. He bit back a whimper of pain. This was the _worst_ sort of Deja vu.

Hector was still struggling to pull free from Junkrat's grasp on his arm. However it must have become obvious to him that he clearly didn't have the advantage in strength because he changed tactic, jabbing a fist into Junkrat's injured shoulder.

Junkrat shrieked, baring his teeth in an immediate snarl as he retaliated. Hector was old. Hector was thin. Junkrat was pissed, and what he lacked in training he made up for in muscle and fury. In such close quarters he held the advantage.

A few good solid punches and Hector was swaying. Junkrat knocked him onto his back, straddling his chest as he pried the silver gun loose and pressed it to his forehead. Hector stared up at him, and of all things... of all things, he was crying.

Junkrat strengthened his grip on the trigger. He had to pull it. You never hesitated, you never gave them the chance, to do so was risking your own life... so... what was he waiting for? Why hadn't he done it? Why was he sitting here like a fool? It's how things _had_ to go... and yet... he remembered the way Mercy had spoken to him, the emphasis she had dropped on the words as if trying to impress the significance of it upon him.

_Hector is a friend_ , she had said. She had meant it. Regardless of Mercy's plans, she fully considered this man important, and she wouldn't want Junkrat to kill him.

It wasn't his job to care though, was it? Why should it matter to him what she thought? Especially when her orders had nearly got him shot twice.

But somehow... it did. And Lucio wouldn't like it either. Nor would D.Va, probably... and while all his instincts shouted at him to put an end to this, he still found himself hesitating.

He smelt something smoldering. His frags must have caught on some part of the shack, he didn't dare turn to look, he needed to deal with the problem before him.

Junkrat clicked his tongue in irritation. "Listen..." he said at length, "it ain't no secret I don't like ya very much, reckon that's been pretty apparent... an' you did just try to kill me, which I ain't exactly fond of either... but I get that that stuff down there was pretty pretty special to ya."

"It was more than-"

Junkrat cut him off. "I ain't in the mood. Just listen, yeah? What I'm tryin' to say here is, _okay_ , so I blew up ya databank or whatever, and, _sure_ , ya tried to shoot me... I'm willin' to call that a fair trade and leave it there... we both forget all about it, right? We're square, done, ya leave it be. Do you get what I'm tellin' ya?"

Hector sniffed, blinking back his own tears. "You expect me to just forget what you've done?"

"Mate," Junkrat said, pressing the gun a little firmer against Hector's skull, "you don't got a lot of options right now. I'm makin' an offer I don't usually make, so think real careful about what ya want."

"What I _want_ is the thing you destroyed," Hector said. There was an almost palpable misery in that voice, a grief that carried in each wavering syllable.

Junkrat was unmoved. "Then build yerself another one, ain't my problem."

"You think I have time? At my age?" He gave a pitiful laugh. "That was supposed to be my _legacy_. That was my library of Alexandria... and you _burnt_ it."

_Something_ was burning, Junkrat was sure of that, he could hear the crackle of flame beginning to creep, and the scent of smoke was growing stronger. If they dragged this out much longer it was going to be an issue.

Hector glared at him with watery eyes. His resolve was hardening.

Junkrat clenched his teeth in frustration. "Ya ain't damn well listenin', I told you-"

Hector snatched for the gun.

Junkrat pulled the trigger. For a moment he simply sat there as he drank in the sight before him. Then he let out a tired sigh. "Was tryin' to be nice for once, ya bloody drongo," he muttered. "Was tryin' to be nice..."

He pulled himself upright, tossing the silver gun away in distaste. Quite how he was going to break the news to Mercy, or the others for that matter, he had no clue, but he didn't expect them to be pleased. Not that he thought he'd done anything wrong. Bloke had a chance, wasn't his fault he was too _bleedin' stupid_ to take it, was it?

Well... one way or another they'd find out, no point dawdling while the place was on fire. It wasn't a true blaze yet but fires had a way of picking up speed, he knew better than to hang about.

Junkrat went to retrieve his frag launcher, empty though it was, and made his way out of the shack without a backward glance.

The night air felt crisp by comparison but more alarmingly peppered with the crack of gunfire. He ducked low, dashing over to where the others were gathered behind another of Symmetra's barriers. Mercy spotted him instantly, concern crossing her features as she catalogued his various injuries.

"You're wounded, are you-"

"It's nothin', had a tussle with some Talon sneak earlier an'... stuff... it ain't important now, why haven't they gone?" he demanded, gesturing to the group of Talon agents steadily approaching. "I thought ya said if I blew the place up that'd be it, that they'd piss off? Thought ya said that'd work. Why're they still here, huh? Didn't they hear it?"

"Oh we all heard it," D.Va said, aiming her pistol ahead, "Hector just about had a fit. Probably trying to glue the wreckage back together now, don't expect help from him any time soon."

Mercy pursed her lips. "I'm sorry, I assumed... I thought the information here was the only goal they could be here for. If we removed it, then it made sense that they would have no cause to attack... I don't understand why it didn't work."

But Junkrat did. He was just surprised he hadn't realized immediately.

He groaned, tugging his own hair at the sheer stupidity of it all.

It was a rule he'd spent most of his life learning, and almost messed up minutes before, it was the simple way that things had to be. If you knocked your enemy down, you didn't give them the chance to get back up again. You finished it, and saved yourself a fight in the future.

Talons numbers might have been thinned out, but they still had the clear advantage and they intended to push it.

In formation with their riot shields held up, D.Va's pistol, Mercy's blaster, and Lucio's sonic amplifier were more of an inconvenience than a threat, even with only a dozen meters between the two groups they didn't have the raw power necessary. Symmetra might have been able to give them something to dodge but she was busy trying to keep her barrier replenished, trembling with the effort. Cracks were already visible in the blue sheen.

What Talon saw was weakness.

"Reckon they're lookin' for a consolation prize," he said with an empty chuckle. He held his frag launcher up on reflex, grip tightening despite the futility of the action. "Team of Overwatch operatives. Wouldn't hurt to clean 'em off of the playin' field, right?"

"Oh," D.Va said, " _that_ makes sense. They'll want to break the barrier, force us to retreat into the house then spread out to surround us. We'll have nowhere to go."

"So... tell me we have a plan?" Lucio said, attention flicking between the three of them. Mercy and D.Va said nothing, clearly still thinking.

Junkrat was thinking too, rapidly running through the possibilities in his mind. They needed to hit Talon with something hard, to knock them down too, even it out... if not then this fight was lost. There was only one thing he really had left.

"Well... still got this," Junkrat told them, dropping his frag launcher and hefting the RIP-tire off his back. The spikes dug into the ground.

It was a sinister looking thing, thick black rubber with heavy grooves and dangerous metal, the remaining portion of the hubcap doing little to hide the homemade engine packed within. That, and an obscene amount of explosives. It was his favorite invention by far and saved precisely for times like these.

He patted the side affectionately. "Land it in the middle of 'em and it should clear 'em out. Might not kill any stragglers but should do the trick, unless there's a bunch hidin' somewhere else. They want an easy fight. Take that away an' they might think twice."

"As far as I'm aware, they have no other squads waiting," Mercy said, glancing at Symmetra as if she was expecting some sort of confirmation, but the architect was locked in intense concentration. "In any case, if you think it will help then you certainly have my permission to try."

"Weren't askin' for permission," he said wryly, loosening the start up cord and pulling the detonator from his pocket. He set his pegleg on the top of the tire, keeping it in place.

"Do you need us to stand back or anything?" Lucio asked, eying the contraption warily.

Junkrat shook his head. "Nah, just don't jump in the way or nothin'. All ya gotta do, ladies an' gentlemen, is enjoy the show."

He pressed his weight down on his peg leg as he gripped the cord, then yanked back hard to jumpstart the engine to life... except... expect nothing happened. No roar, no smoke, not even a whir. Junkrat regained his balance, staring with mounting horror.

" _Bloody... fuckin'_..." he couldn't even form a proper curse, it was all wrong. This RIP-tire was supposed to be his trump card, it wouldn't let him down like this... Somehow during one of his scuffles the engine must have taken some damage... his own fault. He'd built it to be sturdy but he must have misjudged it, hadn't tightened something up properly, or maybe just picked a piece too delicate for the job...

"No no no no!" He gave another useless tug on the cord. He kicked it. When it remained stubbornly lifeless he bent beside his creation, eyes skimming over the visible parts of the mechanics. He didn't have time to tear it apart. Didn't have time to fix it. His panicky fingers scuttered along the surface of the tire as if willing it to somehow mystically heal itself.

The others took in his agitation with grim silence.

"Well," said Lucio after a moment, "what's our back up plan?"

"My barrier will not last much longer," Symmetra contributed weakly.

"Then we have no choice," Mercy decided. She straightened up, drawing on some last reserve of confidence. "Jamison, I may need your help moving Hana. We'll have to fall back to the house... it will give us a few minutes at least."

Junkrat just giggled, sitting back on his haunches as he ran his shaky hands through his hair. "That... ain't exactly an option any more either. May have burnt that bridge... _ha_ , kinda literally."

Lucio turned to him, exasperation in his tone. "Then what do you want us to do, man?"

Good _fuckin'_ question.

Without any proper response to Talon the fight was as good as done. There was no Hog to turn things around, or to make the call for him, Junkrat had to decide for himself... and he knew, as he always had, that survival was what mattered. He couldn't allow himself to be cornered.

What did he have? A grenade, a pair of concussion mines, an empty frag launcher and a tire that refused to move. Wasn't winning with that.

The only other option then was escape. He might be able to use the concussion mines, blast himself down the hill. He'd have to leave the others of course. D.Va's leg was busted, and he couldn't haul them all along with him. Worked better if they were there to distract Talon anyways. Why would Talon bother with one skinny rat when there were four other Overwatch agents to deal with? It could buy him time. Maybe he could remember his way back to the dropship, see if he could bully the AI into flying it, or work out the damn controls for himself if it came down to it... and then... and then...

Then there would be no more D.Va. No more Lucio. No more games nights. No more lazy afternoons spent helping with music, or plotting pranks... No more chats with Symmetra in the workshop. No more doc to patch him up, or even her strange smiles.

But sometimes you had to leave others behind, right? That's what you did. If all else was lost, better someone got out alive. He'd just have to scrape by for a while, move on like he was used to doing, people always passed so quickly you weren't supposed to get attached...

And yet... he was sure that if Roadhog were here, if it were Junkrat stuck with a busted up leg, that no matter what... Roadhog wouldn't leave him. _Never_. And... as little sense as it made to him... Junkrat didn't want to leave them either.

Was this what he had wanted? It was stupid. It wasn't how things were meant to work, but abandoning them felt wrong, wrong enough that he couldn't abide it, and _that_ was a lark. He'd been pretty sure he was willing to do anything to keep himself safe. Certainly that used to be true. When that had changed he wasn't sure. Maybe after Hog, maybe more recently...

Guess he really was a fool after all.

"Listen mate," he said as he stood up, picking his RIP-tire off the ground and swinging it over his back, locking it into place, "I wouldn't count us out just yet, yeah?"

Lucio glanced down, rubbing at his own face tiredly. "Sorry. I'm not saying that. There's gotta be something we can do, if we believe, but... I dunno know what, okay? If we can't fall back to the house where do we go?" He looked back up again, watching him expectantly.

Junkrat shrugged. "Don't got all the answers, but don't worry 'bout it. You just hang tight."

Mercy was studying him suspiciously. "...what are you planning?"

It was D.Va that worked it out though. She tensed up suddenly, lunging for his leg. "Don't you _dare_."

Junkrat skipped neatly out the way. He smiled at her, teasing. "Told ya before, didn't I? Ain't the best at followin' orders."

He'd already made a quick estimation of the distance between himself and the cluster of Talon agents. He'd run through the possibilities.

If he couldn't leave the others behind then he didn't have many choices. Doing nothing was as good as resigning himself to his fate, and he'd _never_ give up like that. Even in the times he'd been certain he would die Junkrat had been determined to burn as much as he could along with him. He'd make it as painful as possible for anyone who thought they'd found an easy kill. He'd make them regret it, if that was the only bitter satisfaction he could dredge from the ashes.

None of this was what he had planned, but there was no Roadhog here, and when faced with impossible odds the one thing Junkrat had found that could possibly save him was sheer recklessness. Better the slimmest of chances than accepting defeat. He'd cackled at such danger before. In a way, it was far easier to enjoy the exhilaration when there were no other options. Junkrat had made his mind up.

If his RIP-tire wasn't going to move by itself... well, he'd just have to move it, wouldn't he?

This might be the right time to say something, something dramatic, memorable... but with all the adrenaline racing through his veins all he wanted to do was laugh. So he did.

With a final mock salute to the group he took two steps, slapped his concussive mine down, and flew. Terrible kick to it, he'd have to look at making some modifications if he ever wanted a batch for personal use. Not something to worry about now. He had other matters to deal with.

It would have been almost comical, sailing through the air with flailing arms toward the formation of stunned Talon agents, if a couple of them hadn't seemed to remember to shoot. Hot metal grazed his hip, another shot tearing through his jacket before it whisked off into the night, a third embedding itself in his lower torso. Then gravity pulled him down and Junkrat crashed into their ranks.

The shock absorbers of his peg leg creaked in protest as he hit the ground, the impact shuddering up through his crouched figure but Junkrat stuck his mechanical arm out, catching his balance. He didn't have time to fret about the searing pain in his gut. Talon were already turning.

Junkrat hefted the tire from his back and let it drop. As they raised their guns he tossed the second of his concussion mines beneath him, just as someone tackled him. His breath left him in a whoosh. He blinked back stars.

_Shit_. Not part of the plan. Weren't guns good enough for some people?

Junkrat lifted his head, glaring daggers at the Talon agent who'd knocked him down, attempting to kick him loose. No, that wasn't going to work, no time, no time...

With a snarl he activated the mine, hurling them both away from the main group.

The trajectory was wrong though, the distance off... the fall had ruined his placement and he hadn't calculated for the added weight of some _fucker_ clinging to him. He couldn't even stick the landing, instead slamming into the earth and tumbling twice before coming to an agonizing stop.

Groggily he reached into his satchel for the detonator, not daring to look behind him.

Was he far enough away? He had no bloody clue, but if he didn't settle this now he'd lose his opportunity, it'd all be for nought. No point half-arsing it, right?

Junkrat offered up a final silent prayer and flicked the safety off. He closed his eyes. Then he hit the trigger, and the world exploded into flames.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you the next chapter wasn't far off... now you have to wait again though I'm afraid.  
> I sort of feel like I should maybe apologise for the violence, but I don't know... I just can't write Junkrat as someone more passive...


	14. Chapter 14

The world was spun in static. He could hear the sharp ringing in his ears – ever present though it normally felt like an almost tangible pressure now, smothering him and muffling all other sound until it felt like a distant reality he was only peering in on, an observer but not a participant... the world seemed disjointed, as hard as he fought to find his footing he kept slipping...

Junkrat blinked. He tried to find something to latch onto. He was lying on the ground. It was dark. Smoke trailed across his swimming vision, spilling out into the sky...

He drew a breath but it felt wrong, rattling in his chest and shuddering through his body but doing nothing to clear the fog in his head. He tried to move. That didn't work either.

Strange how detached the whole experience was... it barely felt like his own body, just a puppet struggling to answer the pull of its strings... and he knew, despite everything, that he should be in pain but it didn't seem to reach him so Junkrat figured that was okay. He could just lie here then. Just rest, and stare up at the drifting smoke as the blackness pressed in. At the very least it didn't hurt. He guessed that was the best he could wish for, all considered.

But there was more sound, somewhere, dampened and faint beneath the static... voices... he could hear the tone, though the words were garbled to his ears. Meaningless. Not that he had the capacity to care. Just let him lie here, just let this be...

Suddenly shadows crowded his view. Hazy figures, looming over him, blotting out the sky. They leaned in, reaching for him, pressing in on all sides...

The previous peace he'd known sloughed away leaving only nausea in its place... no... no, he needed to get free... needed to...

Junkrat tried to sit up, pull back, to swat aside their grasping hands, but his body would not respond properly. It was like the weak flail of an infant. He could feel the feeble shift of his back against the rough ground, the sluggish crawl of his limbs, the frantic beat of his own heart drowning out all coherent thought.

There were too many of them. Too many of them, and he couldn't escape, couldn't wrench himself from their hold... helpless... no...

He wanted to snarl, to throw them off, to snatch up a weapon and show them the threat he was... but he couldn't. Junkrat fought as hard as he could but no matter his struggles they held him down, the far off boom of their voices echoing like thunder in the rolling storm of his head.

He couldn't breathe. Fuck, he couldn't breathe... each desperate gasp felt empty, hollow, snatched in some primal need but all futile... it was as if there were no air, nothing to answer the rattling heave of his chest. He was drowning on dry land. Blurry shapes danced before his eyes.

He thought he caught his name, or the muffled mix of syllables, reverberating somewhere amidst the ringing of his ears but he had no breath to reply, to beg, to threaten...

It was too much. He didn't have the power to fight them. He didn't have the strength to rage against the darkness eating away at his vision. He could feel himself slipping, the limpness of his figure, the drag at his consciousness as if some great weight were sucking him down...

He'd spent so much of his life clawing to hold on... funny how easy it was to surrender. The rabbit-fast pounding of his pulse faded to a distant drum. He let his eyes fall shut.

* * *

 

.

.

.

* * *

Junkrat didn't remember his mother. Or at least, he didn't think he did. He caught snatches sometimes, a woman singing, a woman with golden hair and a bright smile... but he was never sure if they were real or just something he had made up to fill the gaps... he couldn't picture a face. He wondered sometimes if he'd ever remembered her or if she'd slipped through his fingers one day without him ever realizing, without ever feeling the sting of her loss.

Had she even existed? Had he ever had a family, a home? He didn't know... his earliest memories were of scavenging for scrap to earn a meal, hardly the warm solace of a happy childhood. Perhaps it was better that way. Nothing to miss, nothing haunt him. He'd long ago given up trying to conjure any image of the life that could have been...

Yet somehow as he reached for something, anything, stretched his fingers out across the abyss, somehow of all people it was _her_ he envisioned. A figure he didn't even have a face for.

Was there anyone waiting for him beyond the veil? Did they remember him even if he'd forgotten them? He didn't know...

No matter how hard he strained, floundered beneath the surface, there were no hands reaching back to clasp his, to answer a silent, desperate plea... that he might not be alone.

He didn't want to stay in this darkness. He didn't want to be trapped here, stranded, a solitary existence lathered in the silence he so despised. If death was his lot then let it be loud, let it be bright, let it be terrible if it must or let it just end. He wasn't just going to waste away for an eternity.

Junkrat refused. He felt sure, so sure, that if he could just push hard enough he would find himself somewhere else... maybe not the glittery, gilded shimmer of Heaven, fuck knew he didn't deserve that, but something. Anything more than a piss poor excuse for purgatory...

But it was like catching smoke. Every time he thought he sensed something - a sound or a light or even a faint scent - every time he struggled toward it it slipped through his fingers before he could snatch a grip. He could have screamed in frustration, whimpered even. It felt so close, as if he could just open his eyes and escape, but his lids would not move. A nightmare to which there was no end.

On and on it went, the very proximity of some release taunting him, and the closer he got the more it hurt because each time he was certain that _finally_ he'd be free, only to be dragged down once again.

Yet after what felt like an eternity Junkrat found something that did not bleed away. It was a sound. Soft at first, but the longer he listened the more distinct it became – a steady bleep, the background hum of machinery, the shuffle of fabric. It seemed real, solid almost, and for the first time in an age Junkrat felt grounded. He was here. He was wherever these sounds were, not lost to the abyss.

Cautiously, barely daring to try lest failure cut deep, he opened his eyes.

A twinge of fear stirred. It was bright. Too bright at first, and he found himself blinking, squinting as he tried to make sense of all that white. His vision seemed unwilling to focus, blurry despite his best efforts, but after a moment he concluded with relief that he was staring at a ceiling, a very clean one at that.

Junkrat tried to sit up. Instantly the pain hit him, slicing through the fog still muffling his senses. He hissed his breath out through his teeth. His ribs and his chest were very unwilling to move, his left arm was trapped by some kind of weight and both his prosthetics were missing. He managed to lift his head slightly, glancing down and confirming exactly what he'd just decided. His body was a wreck. He was trapped, stuck in whatever bed he was lying in and utterly, _utterly_ helpless.

He could already feel his pulse skyrocketing. Somehow he needed to move, needed to get out of here, find anything he could use to his advantage...

Junkrat took a shaky breath and tried again, fighting past the pain as he struggled to rise.

"Oh, hey, he's waking up. Hey, Rat, it's okay man, we're here, just... just relax, alright?"

If he could get himself upright then maybe...

"Um, Rat, maybe just take it easy for now? Uhhhh, Angela? Do you think-"

Clipped heels sounded across the room. " _Verdammt_. Go wait outside. Jamison, can you hear me? I need you to keep still, you're going to hurt yourself. You're in Overwatch headquarters and perfectly safe, you have my word, but you mustn't overexert yourself... try to stay calm... keep your breathing steady and count it with me, in and out, nice and steady... one... two... three... four... yes, like that, you're doing wonderfully."

Junkrat stared up at the ceiling while he counted, feeling the frantic pounding of his heart settle to a more regular pace. Eventually the buzzing in his head died down, and while he still felt dizzy things were beginning to fall into place.

He could see the doc leaning over him. Her figure was a little out of focus but he recognized her. She wasn't going to kill him. He was _fairly_ sure of that, well, enough that he could bury the remaining anxiety and resist the urge to try and shift away.

"There... do you feel any better?" she asked.

Junkrat made a small, noncommittal sound, refusing to meet her gaze.

"Well, how do you feel overall?"

He thought for a moment. When he spoke his voice felt oddly scratchy. "Like shit."

"Nothing more specific?"

He licked his lips. "Exhausted. Hurts to move. Things are... wobbly. Bit hard to focus. Where's me arm an' leg?"

"Well, that's understandable, you've been kept sedated for the last few days and the pain medication you're on can have side effects. How is your memory? Do you remember what happened?"

Junkrat's brows drew together in a look of deep concentration. He did, he was sure, the recollection was lurking just below the surface of his hazy mind. If he could just order his thoughts... Abruptly Junkrat laughed, followed by a sharp wince of pain. "Blew me tire is what," he admitted. "Must'a been real pretty... shame I didn't have the best view, would almost've been worth it to see it up close... explains why I'm feelin' a little extra crispy right now. What about me arm an' leg?"

"To be clear... you do mean your prosthetics?"

"Course I bloody do, I ain't daft."

"They were damaged in the blast," she said. "I believe Torbjorn has them in the workshop at the moment, he's been doing what he can to repair them."

Junkrat's reply seemed harsh even to his own ears. "I need 'em."

Her expression was stern. "You may be conscious but you are in no state to be up and about, you need rest and recuperation, time to heal."

"I know, I ain't goin' nowhere I just... need 'em, yeah?" He hated how stupid it sounded, how senseless, but he couldn't really explain how important it was just to have them close at a time like this. Anything that made him feel a little less vulnerable… _anything_ that could take the edge off it, was worth its weight in gold.

Mercy must have understood because her face softened. "Alright. I'll see what I can do about fetching them... actually, I might be able to pick them up now if you think you'll be okay without me. Lucio and Hana are just outside, I'm sure they could keep a good eye on you while I'm away, and Athena can alert me if need be, though your physical condition is stable. I shouldn't take long. Does that sound good?"

"Ripper."

"Very well, I'm trusting you to behave," she told him, the faintest hint of warning in her tone.

"Ain't causin' much trouble like this, doc," he said remorsefully.

Mercy disappeared from view and the sound of her footsteps retreated, followed by the swish of the door opening and hushed voices. Instructions, he figured, some kind of briefing on how not to mess him up... he wanted to pick apart the words but it was so damn hard to focus. Every time his mind wandered it seemed to want to drift, to let his heavy lids close and sink back under. But Junkrat fought it, fought the nausea and blurriness, because he refused to let himself surrender to such weakness now of all times. He had to keep his wits about him, as much as he could manage.

More footsteps approached, softer, uncertain, and he heard the scrape of a chair being dragged closer.

"Hey man... how are you feeling?"

He dredged up the energy to tip his head to the side. They were right there, Lucio and D.Va, right next to him. They looked spent, he thought, and though Lucio was trying to smile there was something off about it, a faint wavering that he wasn't used to seeing.

Junkrat summoned a grin. "Feelin' a little... _tire-d_. Ha. Oh fuck, don't make me laugh that hurts."

D.Va lifted a hand to stifle her giggles. "A pun? Really? You never change."

Lucio's lower lip trembled. "It's... it's good to have you back."

"I ain't so easy to get rid of, mate, you should know that by now," he scoffed, shifting to try and get his head to lie more comfortably on the pillow. "Reckon I'd be long gone if I was."

Something strange happened to Lucio's expression... then, abruptly, he burst into tears.

For a moment Junkrat was stunned. That wasn't the reaction he had been hoping for, certainly not the one he'd anticipated, and he had no clue how to react. Words had never been his strong point at any time and doubly so while he was still fighting to keep his mind from wandering. Must have tangled them up, but he couldn't see a way to fix it. Even if he had understood _how_ it wasn't as if there were any comforting gestures he could give.

He pulled a face, trying to sound light. "Oi, what ya gotta go do that for, ey? Ain't like it's you all busted up. I can take a beatin', see? Still tickin'."

"Sorry," Lucio sniffled while D.Va gave him a clumsy hug. "It's just... it-it was too close, you know? It was too close."

"Mercy said if it wasn't for Lucio's sound barrier you would have been killed outright," D.Va elaborated. She looked down at the floor, folding her hands in her lap. "Even then, if it wasn't for her and Lucio you never would have survived the trip back... hanging by a thread... those were her exact words. I remember."

Ah... that explained something, at least.

"I... I thought we'd lost you, you know?" Lucio said, scrubbing the tears away. "I... I said we'd always be there for you, that we'd always look out for you, and I thought... I thought we _failed_."

Junkrat digested this slowly. He felt like he should say something, like he was supposed to, but he didn't want to screw it up. Last thing he wanted was to make Lucio cry again.

He chewed over his words, taking an uncharacteristic moment to tidy his own thoughts rather than spewing the first thing that came to mind. "Didn't fail nobody..." he said tentatively. "Sounds like the opposite, honest, probably owe ya one now... I got no ill will, was me own bloody fault is what, gettin' into trouble like that... that's what Roadie would say... ya seen him about?"

The question at least seemed to distract him. Lucio nodded. "He was here earlier. He's here every day, man, _every_ day. Doesn't say much just sits here... I think he went to grab dinner or something, he'll probably be back soon..."

"Or we could go fetch him if you want..." D.Va added.

Junkrat thought about it. He was tempted, very tempted, but part of him was hesitant too. "Nah," he forced himself to say, "he'll come back... I know he will."

"Yeah, well... you know Symmetra visits too?" Lucio said after a moment. He seemed to have composed himself to some degree, attempting a smile that Junkrat guessed was for his benefit. "Half-one, on the dot, never misses it. Think I might have been wrong about her, dude. Vishkar doesn't care about people, sees them as _things_ , I-I always figured she was just like them, but I don't know anymore... I think she does care, just not very good at showing it."

"Sounds 'bout right."

"Oh, and some of the others visit as well," D.Va said brightly. "Mercy tries to make sure it's not too crowded in here but Lena's zipping in all the time, and I've seen Reinhardt stop by. He cried. Softer than Lucio that guy, Ana was comforting him for the rest of the day from what I heard. Even Soldier dropped in... but, like, Roadhog stared him down until he left so _that_ didn't last long. Totally scared the crap out of us."

"Roadie wouldn't hurt ya... least, not unless ya gave 'im good reason."

"Yeah, I think that's what Soldier was worried about," D.Va said dryly.

Junkrat snorted. He didn't even have to think about it to see the truth. "Nah... if he wanted 'im dead he'd be dead."

D.Va looked less convinced. "Well that's... reassuring, I guess. What I think we're trying to say though is everyone's thinking about you, you know? And... and they all know what you did... even if it was stupid and reckless and I _still_ kind of want to punch you in the face for running off like that and nearly... well, point is you probably saved us. I don't think we could have held Talon off until backup arrived, even _I_ have my limits. Everyone's proud... they'll be thrilled to hear you're awake."

It was Junkrat's turn to look unconvinced.

"I'm serious," she added.

"She's not kidding dude," Lucio said. "Even Mei and Hanzo asked after you, and I know you're not on the best terms with them."

"Huh..." They probably meant that to reassure him, but the idea of the archer snooping around while Junkrat was lying in such a helpless state was the opposite of comforting. The fingers of his left hand fidgeted, unable to reach anything but the edge of his blanket to pick at when his arm still refused to lift.

"Just... people will be happy that you're okay, you know? That you're up."

"Awake," Junkrat corrected him with a tinge of bitterness. "Don't think the doc's lettin' me up for a while yet... gonna be stuck here, probably gonna go bat shit crazy... ain't one for loungin' about, drives me up the wall, ya know that."

Lucio pondered the problem for a moment. "How about a wheel chair then, dude? Soon as you're well enough we'll get one off Mercy and we'll drive you down the halls, as fast as you like... I'll even get my gear if you want a speed boost, promise."

D.Va sat straighter, perking up at the idea. "Oooh, and I'll see if I can drag one of my consoles down here! It'll be just like games nights! Although I guess we might have to uh... wait until, you know..."

"When me arms actually work?" he asked, vaguely amused by her caution.

"Yeah... but we can _totally_ watch movies first, I have a whole collection I was meaning to get you guys to see. I've even got some stupid cowboy flicks Jesse gave me... worth a go, right?"

"Eh, could be," Junkrat permitted.

"Come on, it'll give you plenty to tease him about," she baited with a sly smile.

He managed to smile back.

Lucio and D.Va continued to lump suggestions upon him, each one becoming progressively more unrealistic than the last. He appreciated the effort but his mind began to wander. Focusing on precisely what they were saying was difficult. They must have noticed because eventually Lucio tapped at the side of the bed to pull his attention.

"You, uh... you want us to keep talking man or do you want to catch some rest? It's okay if you do."

Junkrat blinked, drawing himself back. "Keep talkin'," he told Lucio plainly. "I like to listen. Been out long enough by the sound of things, ain't too keen to go back to it. Just... head's a bit muddled is all."

With that encouragement they carried on, the conversation drifting away until Junkrat lost track of it. He wasn't sure how long it was until Mercy returned.

She set his prosthetics down carefully by the bed, with strict instructions to leave them alone until she told him otherwise. He mumbled a reply, couldn't remember what he said. His lids felt heavy.

Junkrat startled, eyes snapping wide. He'd almost dozed off there. Shit, _shit_... needed to stay vigilant, couldn't allow this to happen, couldn't leave himself any more vulnerable than he already was... He knew, in some measure, that Overwatch was probably the safest place he could be, that no one here had shown any particular inclination to hurt him... but it was instinct at work. There was nothing more terrifying than finding himself so utterly defenseless.

His pulse was picking up again. Junkrat glanced around the medical ward, catching sight of Mercy running through some paperwork in the corner. He hadn't even noticed D.Va and Lucio leaving.

"Oi," he called out to her, "what happened to the other two?"

Mercy lifted her head, setting her pen down as she stood up and walked over to him.

Junkrat listened to the click, click, click of her heels on the floor, his own fingers tapping in time.

"I told them it was best to leave you to rest," she said when she reached his side. She checked over one of the machines, though it struck his as more of an absentminded gesture than anything of concern.

"Right..."

"You really should, you know," she said, "sleep will do you a lot of good. Modern medicine has come a long way, but the less stress you put upon your body the better."

"Yeah yeah... just gonna wait for Roadie, right? Ain't fair to skip the bastard for a snooze, probably pissed enough at me as it is..."

"Alright then," she said gently, with her standard smile. "He'll probably be back soon, he usually is."

She left him and returned to her paperwork.

Junkrat gnawed at his lip. The longer he waited the harder it was to keep himself grounded, he kept slipping, his mind fogging up, it was like there was some kind of force trying to pull him under, but he struggled against it. Whether it was pure exhaustion, the remainder of the sedatives, or whatever else was in his system he had no clue. He was tempted to try and pull the tubes that were hooked up to him out, except that it was difficult without his arms and the rest of his movements being so restricted. Doc would probably stick them right back in anyways and there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it.

The only thing he _could_ do was jolt himself back to reality when he noticed himself slipping away, straining just enough that the pain helped to sharpen his senses. He began picking at the blanket again, anything that might distract him... he couldn't stand this. He couldn't _stand_ it. Somehow he needed to get up, to find a way out of here, a way to get himself moving, a way-

He heard Hog before he saw him. Those lumbering footsteps were always distinctly familiar. He looked up, eyes darting immediately to the massive figure entering the room, bright and alert. He stared for a moment. Then slowly, hesitantly, he allowed the tension to drain out of his body, relaxing back into the bed. His breathing steadied.

Junkrat grinned, surprised by how easily the expression fell into place. "There ya are mate! Startin' to think ya didn't care, been real quiet here without ya... well, probably would've been quiet with ya but I still could've used the company since the others pissed off. Ya miss me, huh, Hoggy?"

Roadhog didn't move. He stood where he was, silent, like a true mountain looming on the horizon. He was thinking, Junkrat knew that much, but beyond that he was at a loss. Normally he had no difficulty reading Roadhog but his brain was out of sorts...

Was he angry? He had to be angry, right? The one time he'd trusted Junkrat to handle a mission by himself and he'd fucked it up, nearly cut their partnership short... He swallowed, trying to manifest some form of patience rather than babbling before Roadhog could utter a word.

It felt like an age before he spoke. When he finally did the older Junker pointed a warning finger. "Don't _ever_ do that again."

Junkrat understood. It wasn't anger that coloured Roadhog's words, it was concern, fear even... the thought was oddly warming and he didn't know why he had worried at all, of course Roadhog wouldn't feel any different... oh he was still ticked off, but there was no venom to it.

Junkrat's grin widened and he laughed, then winced suddenly, glowering at the pain. After a brief huff he smiled again, eyes dancing up to Roadhog's mask. "Ain't plannin' on it mate, ain't plannin' on it," he said ruefully. "Think I might just have learned me lesson this time round."

"Good," Roadhog replied. Having evidently finished what he wanted to say he plodded over to one of the chairs beside the bed, lowering himself into it with a faint creak as it adjusted to his weight. It was obviously bigger than the other seats, probably something he'd dragged in at some point to save himself crushing any of the flimsier furniture. He picked a battered paperback up off the bedside table, thumbing through the pages as if searching for his place.

Junkrat looked away, gazing up at the ceiling as the room still spun. He could feel himself slipping again.

"Doc's got me on some pretty hard stuff," Junkrat said distantly. "Ain't sayin' I'm an expert or nothin' but it makes things kinda fuzzy, hard to focus and shit... like me head's got a weight on it, ya know?"

Roadhog grunted.

Junkrat paused, licking his lips as he willed up the courage to say what he really wanted. When he spoke again it was in a quieter voice, as if whispering a secret. "Think I might just pass out again..."

Paper rustled as Roadhog turned a page. "I'll keep watch," he promised.

Of course he understood, of course he knew what to say... Junkrat let out a shaky breath, a light smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks mate..."

He closed his eyes and without a second thought finally allowed sleep to claim him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're back at HQ. I don't think Junkrat's happy with his current predicament but it could be worse, right?  
> I can also finally post [that one-shot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11449800) I mentioned ages ago, from Hog's perspective, if uh, any of you want to go check it out.


	15. Intermission

The next day was slow, ploddingly so by Junkrat's estimation, but at least his head felt clearer. Unfortunately that did nothing to quell his anxiety, quite the opposite since it gave him ample opportunity to contemplate his situation, which resulted in several arguments with himself as to what to do... inevitably they all ended the same.

His options were limited. He wasn't getting out by himself, he couldn't even sit up properly, so if escape was his aim he'd need Roadhog, but persuading him it was a good idea to ditch the medical ward seemed unlikely... because, well, it _wasn't_ a good idea. He _knew_ that. He knew he needed to stay here, to rest, to heal, but his instincts had other convictions.

Junkrat disliked being trapped. He disliked it _intensely_. While he could reasonably say that the doors were not locked and that the only reason anyone would complain about him leaving the room would be his own health, knowing that he could not simply stand up and walk out of his own volition was distressing. It prickled at him, warning him, whispering things in the back of his head that had no place here...

His own helplessness was equally as unsettling. Roadhog's presence went some way to soothing that, but intermittently those same worries came slinking back as he struggled to find a way to occupy himself. That was the problem, really, the lack of anything to amuse himself with. Roadhog was there and so he should feel safe, but there was too much damn time to think...

Mercy was the first to offer a distraction that morning. While he had little interest in what she had to say – simply more polite questions, and a summary of his condition which only served to remind him that he wasn't getting up anytime soon – she also provided him with two devices. One, she claimed, so he could call her if he ever needed regardless of where she was in the base. The other was to operate the bed. This would leaver it up or down and allow him to effectively sit, albeit at an angle, without his own strength.

Junkrat's twitchy fingers were all too happy to make use of this. He wasted the better part of twenty minutes playing with the controls for the bed, and just about made himself nauseous before she came back to seize it on the grounds that it was 'not a toy' and that he was 'probably going to hurt himself'. His complaints fell on deaf ears. _Particularly_ Roadhog, who Junkrat suspected was unimpressed by his antics. What else they expected was beyond him. He'd never liked stillness. It felt wrong, it ran contrary to his very nature, he could hardly be expected to just lie there if any other option presented itself.

Thankfully it wasn't long before Lucio and D.Va trooped in with armfuls of entertainment. They weren't the only ones to stop by either, as the day progressed a slow but steady stream of visitors arrived. That was baffling enough to Junkrat, but stranger still was the fact that some of them brought _gifts_. Stuff just for him, and which they assured him, despite his natural skepticism, he was not expected to pay back. Could have told them what a terrible business practice that was, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Got a whole load of loot and all he had to do for it was blow himself up. Downright ridiculous.

Tracer was the first to make an appearance, dragging her lady friend along with her. As usual the chipper brit was all but bouncing with enthusiasm, but a tap on the arm from Emily and she seemed to remember herself, sobering up and presenting her gift with an air of reverence. A pulse bomb. Junkrat's eyes gleamed at the prospect.

A stern glance from Mercy however and Tracer pulled it back, laughing, and swearing that _of course_ she couldn't give it to him now, but it would be waiting in the workshop for him as soon as he was ready. That didn't sit as well with Junkrat but he supposed he wasn't in any kind of shape to tear it apart at the moment anyway. It was something to look forward to.

Reinhardt was naturally all joyous cries of relief, praises for his supposed bravery and promises of the best currywurst a man could dream of, none of which Junkrat was entirely sure how to respond to. Ana and Brigitte were more subdued by contrast, offering a new set of tools and a box of tea Ana would only describe as 'calming'. They bundled up their louder companion, guiding him out of the room.

Junkrat turned to Roadhog once he judged them to be gone. “Oi, what's currywurst?”

His partner could only shrug.

He didn't have long to ponder it since Symmetra arrived precisely on time. She scorned his reckless behavior but quietly, Junkrat suspected, she was just pleased to see him awake. It was always the small things you had to look out for with her. She didn't grin or laugh or cry, but Hog had never been like that either, some people had their own mannerisms. It was there in the way she stood a little closer than she normally did, in the particular attention she granted to his mindless chatter and how she bit back any complaints she had for the time being, setting them aside.

It was nice, for once, to be sought out simply for his company and not any ulterior motive he could detect. If she was there, it was because she thought it important. Symmetra would never have integrated it into her schedule if she didn't consider it as such. That was an odd sort of gift in itself.

One by one the others drifted by. The cowboy left him a bottle of whisky which was almost immediately confiscated. The big Russian lady gave him a proper winter coat, since whatever jacket he'd been wearing was presumably a smoldering mess if his own state was anything to go off - not that that bothered Junkrat much. Pharah told him he could have a round of her rockets, but warned him to 'behave for Angela', to which the doctor laughed quite sweetly.

Even Mei tiptoed in, delivering a homemade card and mumbling some sort of apology before she hastily retreated, and the Monkey had an apology too, though it seemed more longwinded and stumbling. Junkrat eventually cut him off and told him he'd just be happy with no more mandatory briefings for a week or two. The Monkey seemed to want to say more, but he sighed, and left it at that. He even thought he caught a glimpse of Soldier through the window, but he was gone before he had a chance to pin him with his gaze.

Junkrat would be lying if he said he didn't still feel tired. There was a certain bone-weariness to his body that was unfamiliar, even if it wasn't as bad as it had been the day before, and on occasion it got the better of him. Enough so that at one point Roadhog growled at everyone to get out and he took a begrudging nap.

As soon as he was conscious and nattering away again though Lucio and D.Va came back. They chatted about gossip around the base, little bits of this and that, keeping his mind from wandering to things he didn't want to contemplate. They even dragged in a monitor as promised and played some movies. Junkrat found those harder to focus on than games, since they weren't interactive and you were just kind of expected to stare in one spot, but even if he had trouble following the plot at times he still got a kick out of the action scenes and any dumb jokes.

Lucio left a set of headphones and some music in case it got too quiet, and they both swore to visit again. He knew they meant it.

Even if he was stuck for now... even if there was a restlessness he couldn't quite ease and he'd never truly be comfortable while he couldn't stand by himself, well... Junkrat supposed it wasn't _all_ bad. He'd heal, and in the meantime... there were other things to enjoy. He didn't remember ever feeling anything other than fear in such a situation before... made a nice change, to feel wanted too, to know that for whatever reason people thought him worth the trouble of visiting.

Not because they spied weakness, not because they thought they could wring anything out of him, not because they _had_ to, but because... they cared? That was the only answer he was able to puzzle out of it all. Right loony... not that he minded. Left him with the biggest, stupidest grin of his life, to the point where Roadhog actually asked what it was about.

Junkrat just snickered. “'s funny, ain't it? Folk used to say I'd never amount to anythin', and I always thought, ya know, after we hit the big time, robbed the bleedin' crown jewels and all that other shit, that I _showed_ 'em, right? Got everythin' a bloke could want... could _take_ anythin' we wanted, could travel the world, an' it was ace... But I reckon... reckon this ain't half bad either, better even... Never thought I'd stay somewhere so long... never thought I'd _want_ to, ya get what I'm sayin'?”

Roadhog snorted. “Delirious.”

“Might be mate!” he said cheerily. “No idea what the doc said I'm on today, can't remember... an' I got no right feelin' like this while I'm lazin' about. Reckon this ain't the worst place to wake up though, all considered... they're a good sort... an' you're here too, which isn't nothin'.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Guess... guess I'm just feelin' a bit funny right now is all...”

“This,” Roadhog rumbled, and there seemed to be a gentle warning in his tone, “might not last.”

Junkrat paused. Of all people he would know. Roadhog never said a lot about his past, but Junkrat remembered hearing snippets over the years, enough that he understood a little, even if he'd never piece together the whole picture.

His giddy mood dampened slightly, and he forced himself to weigh those words, to take them at their worth. His fingers tapped in an offbeat rhythm. Could be that there was some truth to it... but despite it all he still couldn't stop a vague smile creeping its way back across his face. “Eh... maybe. But we're both still here for now, so no harm in enjoyin' it, right? That's the proper way of things. Stuff's alright, yeah?”

“Hmmmmm.” It wasn't a disagreement as far as Junkrat could tell.

He nodded, satisfied. “Exactly. And I'll be up again in no time, I'm fine,” he said, “just... don't let me think too hard about it cos ya know how I get...”

Roadhog's grunt confirmed it.

That was all he needed really. At the end of the day, Junkrat supposed that regardless of his own distaste for it, a brief spell in the medical ward wasn't too steep a price to pay... mission had been a bloody wreck, but he hadn't lost anything important. He'd take the rest in his stride.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something short and quick so you know Junkrat's doing alright. It's by no means an end, but it's not a bad place to take a pause.  
> I _was_ going to tell you that it might be a longer wait until the next chapter since my break is over, so it's back to uni and I actually have to *shudders* do work... I somehow ended up writing half of it last night however, but, then again, now I've been hit by a spiralling sense of self doubt and I'm thinking I may have to re-write it so... I don't know... we'll see. In any case, chapters might be a little further apart in future.


	16. Chapter 16

“I'm going to remove your cast now. I will have to touch you.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Junkrat said, nodding his consent. Mercy always tended to warn him first, a gentle habit she took care to undertake, and which he appreciated though the gesture still largely baffled him. It wasn't so much that he hated the sensation of touch, rather that a sudden or unexpected grasp often sparked a reaction from the skittish side of his brain he'd never quite cured.

What was far more alarming to him were the tools she produced for the job, but she assured him they were harmless, and after some consideration even went as far as to set them to her own skin to prove her point. That settled his agitation a little.

He sat back, humming to himself distractedly as she worked.

The last several days had been trying, but he was feeling better for it. Truth be told his wounds had been healing far, far quicker than he thought they had any right to, which was probably Mercy's doing, and made him wonder absentmindedly precisely how far gone he must have been before he woke up. Heck of a lot worse, probably.

At this point at least he was able to sit up without any trouble, though his chest still felt a tad tender, and she'd permitted him his prosthetic arm back, providing he took it off to sleep. The leg she was less lenient with. She'd allowed him one shaky attempt to cross the room with it the previous morning, but it otherwise remained off-limits.

His movement had been largely restricted to whoever he could pester into wheeling him about. Even then, she was careful with his comings and goings, only letting him out at specific times of her choosing. He would have ignored her orders in that regard, except that everyone else seemed strangely happy to listen to her, and go out of their way to thwart his own plans.

Naturally, he'd been suspicious of that. To him, it seemed an awful lot like they wanted to keep him here, and he didn't much like the idea... but, he'd wrestled the thought aside.

It was hard, at times, to work out if any of his paranoia had merit or if it was completely unfounded, but he felt confident that, whatever the case, they had no ill intentions. If he kept telling himself that, it didn't bother him quite so much.

Frankly, Junkrat was just itching to start moving. He was certain that it couldn't be _too_ long until he was released - especially by this point. Even the thought of it had him fidgeting with impatience.

Mercy sighed, not bothering to scold him since she seemed almost done. As soon as she cracked the cast open he wiggled his arm free, stretching muscles he hadn't been able to use properly for over a week with a groan.

“Careful,” she chided, “try to take it slow, it might still be sore.”

“Feels a bit funny but looks alright to me.” He clenched and unclenched his grip, turning the arm this way and that as if examining her handiwork. “Not bad. Wha'dya think Roadie? It's not on backwards or nothin'?”

Roadhog snorted.

“Gonna go out on a _limb_ here an' say that means no,” Junkrat quipped in a high pitched giggle. He reached out to scratch at his forearm with his metal digits, but paused when Mercy shot him a stern look. “What?”

“Be gentle, the skin will still be sensitive, same with your other wounds.”

“Yeah, got it,” he muttered, pulling a face. Reminding himself to follow her instructions was a constant struggle, but as far as he could tell, she meant well. Her treatment of him over the week had eased most of his lingering suspicions, even if he couldn't completely erase his own wariness. “So, what's the story now doc? Am I all good to go?”

“In a hurry, are we?” she asked, sounding vaguely amused.

“Yeah, well... Got things to do, don't I?”

“I'm sure you do, but there's no need to rush, you'll likely end up causing more harm than good. Another few days rest wouldn’t hurt.”

“Might do,” Junkrat muttered, displeased with the prospect. He turned to appeal to Roadhog. “Come on mate, tell her I'm fine, plenty rested, tip top condition. A shinin' beacon of health.”

Roadhog just snorted again.

“Oi, ya callin' me a liar?”

The impassive lenses of Roadhog's mask stared back.

Junkrat pouted. “Well, what would you know anyways?”

“Perhaps this will be incentive not to be so reckless in future,” Mercy told him as she tidied away her tools with practised efficiency. “I can only do so much.”

“Don't need to tell me twice, doc,” he said, though his expression was still sulky. Despite everyone's best attempts, his patience with his predicament was wearing thin, knowing that it couldn't be much longer only spurred his restlessness. And the better he felt, the more energy he had to juggle.

He gave a theatrical sigh, flopping back down on the bed and regretting it immediately as he winced in pain. Had to remember to be a little careful, still.

“Roadie, Roadie, ya know this is practically torture for me right? Would it kill ya to help me out once in awhile? What kinda bodyguard are ya, eh?”

“Quit being dramatic.”

“I'm being realistic is what I am, mate. It's boring in here.”

“So?”

Junkrat sat up again with a scowl. He pointed a finger in Roadhog's direction. “You're a heartless bastard, ya know that?”

His partner chuckled, clearly unfazed by the accusation.

“It's hardly cruel of him not to want you trying to run around and injuring yourself again before you get the chance to heal properly,” Mercy chimed in. “If that were to happen, you'd have to spend even _longer_ here.”

Junkrat shuddered at the thought. “Don't even joke about that. I mean, I appreciate the attention an' all but I ain't meant to stay put too long, never turns out well.”

“Then you had better rest and hope that speeds your recovery,” Mercy said in an all-too-sweet tone, and Junkrat had the distinct impression she was teasing him. He huffed, grumbling under his breath, though there was no real malice to it.

He was quickly distracted by Roadhog's figure turning away. “Oi, where you off to, then?”

“Gotta eat,” Roadhog informed him plainly. “I'll be back.”

“Sure, sure... hey, score me some boba while you're at it, right? Now that's the good stuff... real thirsty work, this recovery business.”

He grunted, which Junkrat took to mean he was willing to humor him, and offered a silent wave before he departed. The space left behind in his absence felt almost palpable, and Junkrat's lips tweaked downward, eyes darting off to look for something to distract himself.

There was a pile of puzzles and other bits and bobs the various Overwatch agents had left him, along with his own notebook and a few blunt pencils, but nothing that immediately stuck out. He wanted... heck, he just wanted to be moving again. Up and about on his own, free to wander as he pleased. There were things to do, and here he was, still stuck in bed waiting for something to happen.

He gave another theatrical sigh, casting a sidelong glance at Mercy. She lifted her eyebrows at him.

“Something troubling you?”

“Nothin' more than usual.”

“Well, if there's nothing more pressing on your mind, I was actually hoping to speak to you today...”

He shrugged. “Ya speak to me every day, doc. Ain't exactly a special occasion.”

He was well acquainted with her daily inquires, asking him about his pain, ease of movement, focus, mood, appetite, bla bla this and that. He _guessed_ he understood the necessity of it, but he still did not particularly like to admit to his weaknesses. Habit, really. The best he got out of it was the opportunity to make a few bad puns.

“Jamison, this is important,” she said.

“Yeah yeah...” Junkrat muttered, but he was already trying to piece together his latest wordplay, and he was only half listening. Something about going out on a limb? No, wait, he'd already used that one, hadn't he? Had he? He tried to scour his fleeting memory.

“Jamison,” she said, and there seemed to be something more serious in her tone, enough to drag his attention back to her. “I know about Hector.”

Junkrat stiffened. That was the first time he'd heard that name spoken since the mission.

His words were guarded. “Dunno what you're talkin' about.”

“I think you do, your reaction is clear enough. Were you planning on keeping it a secret?”

That he'd shot him? No, no he hadn't been, but with the chaos of the battlefield it had seemed like a problem to ignore, and after waking up there had been other things, and well, it had just never seemed like the right time to bring it up... staring at her though he felt like this would not be a satisfactory answer. _Hector is a friend_ , Mercy had told him...

“I'm not threatening you,” she said, with mild exasperation, but Junkrat did not relax. He remained frozen in place, eyes flickering over her and the spot where his peg leg still sat. He didn't know what her angle was. Didn't understand what she hoped to gain, but he knew this had to be something. She wanted to handle this now before he was back to his full strength, had to, had to be something she was after, some recompense maybe, but why hadn't she brought it up before? No one else had mentioned it, he'd figured it was water under the bridge... Why wait until Roadhog was gone? Why corner him now? Why the fuck had he trusted her in the first place?

“If I wanted to hurt you I could have done it anytime over the past week, please, there's no need to look so alarmed,” she said softly. “I took a hippocratic oath when I became a doctor, I would never harm a patient, physically or otherwise.”

“Then what do ya want?” he demanded. This was wrong, it sent warning signals shrieking through his head, but... she hadn't hurt him, had she? Hadn't lied about that at least... hadn't even tried to pry any information out of him before now... maybe that's what she was after? Thought Hector meant anything, that she could lord his death over him like it was leverage, make him look proper guilty if he didn't tell her what she wanted, strip this place away from him when he'd done nothing wrong... but... but that wasn't right either, was it? It was all just his head playing tricks... shit, he didn't even know anymore... he wanted it to be a trick... he was just running through old habits, wasn't he? Right?

Perhaps she noticed the conflict warring across his face, or the way his gaze darted about the room while he catalogued his options on instinct alone. Whatever it was she took a slow step backward, creating a little more distance between them, and then drew up a chair. She sat down, hands folded in her lap, perfectly unassuming.

“I can wait until Mako returns but I'd rather discuss this in private. What would make you feel better?”

She seemed to be studying him, measuring his behavior carefully and Junkrat squirmed under her gaze.

“Just... say whatever the fuck you're plannin' to and get it over with.”

“Perhaps you'd feel better if I explained everything, so you understand my position from a personal standpoint? Nonprofessional, off record, so there are no misunderstandings between us?”

When he made no response she sighed, but nodded, as if that was an answer in itself. It still took her a moment to choose where to begin. “Hector was... a friend. Not a close one, but a friend nonetheless. I don't think I can entirely forgive you for what you did, but I hope... no, I'm sure you wouldn't have done it without good reason.”

“Bloke was askin' for it,” Junkrat said, startled by his own voice. There was no need for him to be so defensive. He'd done a heck of a lot worse than shooting someone before and it didn't usually bother him. “Didn't give him anythin' he didn't deserve. Gave him fair warnin' and everything, proper chance, even after the first time... was self-defense, right, nothing wrong with that?”

“I'm not arguing with you. I'm afraid I must take a part of the blame... I knew how he would react, it was my orders you were following that led the two of you to clash, and I was aware of how that might play out... it was simply unavoidable.”

Junkrat scowled. “Ya _knew_ he'd try to shoot me?”

A flash of guilt spread across her features. “I don't... I've never wanted to hurt anyone. All my life, I've tried my best to help people, to do what's _right_ , but... you can't save everyone. That's where this all started, really - I made that mistake. I lost an old friend, and did not want to accept it... I tried to save him when there was nothing left to save, and what I did to him still haunts me.” She took a steadying breath. “ _Mein Gott_ , I wish that I could take it back... no man deserves to suffer like that. I did a terrible, terrible thing.”

Junkrat's scowl deepened, but this time it was pensive. She was telling him more than she had to, he suspected, but _why_ he wasn't certain... there didn't seem to be much to gain from it, and she had yet to ask for anything in return. He shifted slightly, readjusting his position on the bed so that he wasn't braced quite as tense. After a moment of consideration, he settled his mechanical arm in his lap and allowed his human fingers to tug idly at the metal digits of his hand, working out a stiffness that hadn't been quite right ever since its supposed repair.

“Rest of 'em know about this?”

She nodded, reaching up and brushing her fringe aside absently with the motion. “I have explained my... _mistake_ to some of the senior members of Overwatch, yes... it's a personal matter for them too. What worries me more is that some may see what I did as tool rather than the curse it is... if Talon were to find my methods I don't like to think what they may do...”

He felt that the pieces were beginning to slot together. “So Hector knew then? Had that in his fancy database?”

“It was a possibility... he would have had the opportunity to pick it up, and I've never known him to shy away from information, regardless of anyone's complaints... when I realized, I simply couldn't risk it. Putting either of you in danger was never my preference but I could not allow this to escape, you understand? How many more would have had to suffer because of my own selfishness? Because I would not simply let a dead man rest? I cannot save everyone.”

There seemed to be a genuine pain in her eyes, so far from the carefully practised smile he was used to seeing on her face. He wasn't sure why that unsettled him, but Junkrat didn't like it. He toyed with the idea of a joke for a moment, but decided that probably wasn't the smartest thing. He coughed instead.

“People die, ya know,” Junkrat said eventually, “- seen enough of it meself. Just what happens. No point gettin' hung up on it, figured you'd 'a worked that out by now.”

Mercy raised her eyebrows, perhaps surprised that he'd offered anything at all. “Thank you... I know, but at times it's hard to accept that there is nothing you can do. It is not in my nature to give up on people. I would prefer not to dredge this all up, quite frankly, but I think it is good that you understand. I still feel somewhat to blame myself... not just for that, but for Hector, and you too... I've done what I can to delay the inevitable.”

“Inevitable, huh?” he asked, a hint of caution creeping back into his voice.

“Your condition has improved, and Jack... Commander Morrison,” she corrected herself, “will want a full report on the events that occurred during the mission. I told him to hold off until you had recovered enough to be ready, mentally as much as physically, but I think I will be discharging you tomorrow. You still need rest, and medication, and I will be making checkups... but there's no need to keep you cooped up in here when you could be in your own room, and I cannot pretend otherwise. I thought it fair to warn you.”

Junkrat squinted at her. Was that honestly _all_ she wanted? The situation left him out of sorts, and uncertain as to his position. Mercy always had a way of stirring things up. He thought he liked her well enough most of the time, but even if she wanted to help, she _meddled_ , and Junkrat wasn't sure what to make of it. His fingers twisted a little faster. “Ya reckon... ya reckon they ain't gonna take the truth well?”

She managed her usual bright smile. “If you give a full account and it's truly deemed to be self-defense then I don't think that they'll take further action. I just... want you to be prepared. I'll take responsibility for my own actions as well.”

“Right...” His scowl returned, but he was thinking.

One way or another this was going to have to be sorted out tomorrow. Only question was _how_ he wanted to handle it. From his perspective, he had done nothing wrong, _but_ he was beginning to remember that the rest of Overwatch had a... slightly different grasp of morals. That they might, say, frown upon murdering a supposed ally rather than simply incapacitating him. Would it bother them _that_ much? Surely they'd understand...

He glanced over at Mercy again, chewing at his lip. “Look, do ya think-”

His question was cut short however as the medical bay doors swished open, causing his head to snap round to face the intruder.

For a second they were unfamiliar, but then his memory slotted back into place.

“Angela? Do you have a moment? My master was wondering-”

“Not right now, Genji,” Mercy said apologetically. She stood up from her chair, taking a few steps forward to stand between Junkrat and the cyborg. She gestured behind her as if trying to impress a point upon him. “I'm dealing with a patient right now.”

Genji cocked his head to the side, though his expression was unreadable behind the face plate he wore. “Ah, that's right. I heard about your adventure, Fawkes, it's good to see you are recovering well. I'm sure our good doctor here has been taking care of you.”

“Knows her stuff,” Junkrat permitted, though his eyes were narrowed. He'd never much liked the cyborg, reminded him far too much of omnics for that. Try as he might, there was something awful about that voice, about the green glow of his visor, the way he puffed steam from his body if he strained himself. Made his skin crawl. Thankfully the man had been away on a mission of some kind for a while in Nepal, and Junkrat had rather enjoyed not having to see him around the base. Worse than the archer, that one.

Whether she sensed the animosity or not, Mercy stepped forward to place a gentle hand on Genji's shoulder. “I'm very sorry, I'm sure we'll have a chance to speak later. I'll let Athena know when I'm done here.”

Genji nodded. “Of course. Sorry to interrupt.”

“It's quite alright.”

With a courteous sort of bow the cyborg backed away, the doors closing behind him. Junkrat watched, eyes still narrowed.

Mercy let out a tired sigh. She turned around and her heels clicked on the floor as she made her way back to him. “Sorry about that, he must have forgotten you were here.”

“Or didn't care,” Junkrat suggested.

“I doubt that. He's not as different from you as you think, you know...” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Ha! Don't fool yourself, doc,” he said with a laugh that quickly tapered off. The earlier conversation was still lurking him his mind, and his face went grim. He had things he needed to sort out, couldn't get sidetracked...

Mercy took no notice of his distraction, smiling her pleasant smile. “In any case, for now I'd recommend you rest while you still have the chance, and think over what I've told you. Tomorrow will be tiring.”

“Yeah,” Junkrat echoed distantly, gaze unfocused. “Ya might be right.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since the last chapter, I've been dealing with a lot of real life stuff. Still am really, so no promises on when the next chapter will be. All I can say is that I'm sorry, and thank you to everyone who still reads this and for all the lovely comments you've left, I really appreciate it.  
> Also shoutout to sladdertacka for doing some proofreading.


	17. Chapter 17

Junkrat was distracted for the remainder of the day. Despite Mercy's recommendations, he found himself too wound up to try and rest, there was a lot ticking away in his head. _It’ll all work out in the end,_ he told himself, but that didn't stop his mind running over other outcomes.

This wasn't something he was used to dealing with. The rules of Junkertown were... loose, to put it lightly. No one really gave a toss who got killed or why, it was all just part of life in the outback, and while Junkrat saw no point in hurting folk who minded their own, he wasn't exactly torn up about hurting those who had it coming. Hector had tried to shoot him. That was that, wasn't it? He'd tried to shoot him, so he’d shot him back, and that was fair.

Except... except some of Overwatch seemed to regard Hector as an old friend, and they had funny ideas about sparing people and all that stuff and things got kind of uncertain...

Maybe he could have knocked the bastard out or something, or hit him until he stopped putting up a fight, but that was a hassle and at the end of it the same problem remained. You _had_ to kill an enemy when you knocked them down. If you gave them the chance to get up again, you gave them an opportunity to turn the tables. Take them out and save yourself a fight in the future...

He'd been stupid enough to offer Hector a chance. More than he'd given anyone before. That was good, right? Meant he'd been doing this proper, like Overwatch wanted... or trying to, at least. Had to count for something. But what if that wasn't enough? What then?

“Are you alright man? You've been kinda... out of it today? I mean, I'm not trying to press or anything but you know... is something bothering you?”

Junkrat blinked, slowly drawing himself back to reality. His gaze focussed on Lúcio, sitting beside D.Va next to his bed. He'd been talking to them, right? Must have, but his memory was cloudy and he found he couldn't quite remember any of the conversation beyond the vaguest of strokes.

He needed to say something. Shouldn't lie either, but he found himself oddly reluctant to speak. Junkrat gave a shrug, glancing away. “Doc reckons she'll be lettin' me go tomorrow.”

“Dude, that's great news! What's wrong with that?”

“Nothin', it's bloody fantastic, just means I got more stuff to think about,” Junkrat said plainly.

D.Va adopted an inquisitive expression. She lent forward slightly, hands resting on her knees. “What _kind_ of stuff?”

Junkrat's gaze skipped over her and settled somewhere else entirely. He scratched at the back of his neck, lips pursed as he mulled over his answer. “Not sure I should tell ya, really... heck, ya might already know. Ain't too sure.”

“Well can you at least give us a clue?” she demanded.

For a while, he was silent, scowling to himself, but he sighed. “I'll tell ya the whole story tomorrow, cross me heart, but... ya know I forget, sometimes, that ya might not see things my way? I've done a lot of shit without thinkin' twice an' it always just seems right but I dunno, never really wondered what everyone else thought before Overwatch.”

Lúcio was studying him carefully. “Is this the whole crime thing again?”

Junkrat just shrugged once more, unwilling to elaborate.

“Because we told you that doesn't matter.”

“Yeah, mate, I remember,” Junkrat said.

Lúcio was still watching him, but it seemed to Junkrat that he was trying to say something. He kept opening his mouth but stopping before any words could escape, as if rethinking his entire sentence. Eventually he appeared to settled on a response. “My sound gear,” he said softly, “you know I stole that tech from Vishkar?”

Despite himself Junkrat's eyes went wide, laughter bursting from his lips. “Ya kiddin'!”

He shook his head. “Nah, it's true dude.”

Junkrat was still reeling from the very idea. He would have written it off as a joke but Lúcio's tone was dead serious. He forced himself to absorb this fact, looking at the DJ in disbelief as he stifled any remaining giggles. “Shit... never figured ya for the thievin' type...”

Lúcio looked offended. “It's not like I was stealing it for _myself_. It was for the people, you know? They wanted to take our home, and there was no way I was gonna let them do that... someone needed to stand up, to fight for those that couldn't... we drove them out in the end, I don't regret it.”

Junkrat grinned. “Ya ain't really a pushover, are ya?”

Lúcio blushed at that, his reply somewhat faltering. “Well... can't back down when people need you. Doesn't mean I'm excusing crime but, like... if it's for the right reasons...”

D.Va let out a groan, throwing her arms up in the air. “Ugh, that's it, I feel left out. There's no way _I_ should be the most honorable one here. Help me steal something.”

“Hana, no,” Lúcio laughed.

She pouted. “No fun.”

“Ya didn't hear it from me,” Junkrat said, bending forward conspiratorially, “but the monkey keeps his peanut butter in the control room, right locker, doesn't shut properly, ya just gotta give it a bit of a whack.”

“Rat, _no_ ,” Lúcio said, still laughing.

He straightened up with mock innocence. “Oi I've done nothin', just sharin' a little info is all.”

“Awwww, he's just trying to help. The great peanut butter heist... come _on_ Lúcio, where's your sense of adventure?”

“You two... I swear...”

“You know we're only teasing.”

“Probably,” Junkrat said with a wink.

Lúcio just shook his head, but his smile was still plain as day. “Man, you're as bad as each other.”

“And yet you still adore us,” D.Va said with total confidence. Lúcio didn't deny it.

Whatever the case, the two did something to lift Junkrat's spirits. He didn't know how to explain it all to them. Didn't know what they'd make of everything tomorrow, but for now... for now they were both here, and they seemed happy, like they wanted to be there... and that was good enough.

As the day drew on, though, he was left once again to his own thoughts and the bitter ringing of his ears. It was sometime in the evening when his restlessness peaked, and he began to tear up one of the bedsheets out of the feverish need to destroy something.

Thankfully, Mercy wasn't here to scold him as she didn't spend all her time in the medical ward, and Roadhog probably wouldn't have cared much even if he had been awake. The sound of fabric tearing was at least partially satisfying as he shredded the material into smaller and smaller pieces, taking an almost intense interest in the process. It was a nice distraction. However, when he was done, and sitting in a confetti mess of torn up bedding looking for something to burn it with, he remembered that, well, he _couldn't_ , and his mood immediately soured. Doc had been very strict on the whole _no-fire_ thing, wouldn't even allow him a lighter. Fuckin' ridiculous.

He tossed the scraps up in the air, watching them float down to the floor. Bored with the whole thing, he sat back, chewing absently on his fingernails. Couldn't stand this. Bloody doc got things wafting around in his head and then left him to stew. This was her fault. But... but she'd only been trying to help, hadn't she?

Whatever her intentions Junkrat did not like thinking of problems he had no solution to. He liked problems he could solve, immediate actions he could take, to fix things in the same way he cobbled together a homemade bomb, to move forward and not... not be suck _waiting_ for shit to happen. _God_ he hated waiting.

He _supposed_ uncertainty was nothing new to him. He'd spent most of his life not even knowing if he'd see the next day, let alone what it might hold. You just had to live in the present, right?

Tomorrow was taunting him though, whispering little things in his head until he pressed his hands to his ears in a useless bid to block out his own concerns. He couldn't fix tomorrow because tomorrow hadn't come. There was nothing to do but ponder the possibilities, and that was the _opposite_ of helpful.

He wanted something he could fix. Something he could get _right_ , now, _right now_ , so he felt like he was _doing_ something, wasn't just lounging about like some useless lug...

Then, suddenly, a memory sparked somewhere in the back of his head and he paused, mouth turning into an 'o' as an idea fell into place. He'd forgotten about that, but now that he thought about it, it was something he should probably address. He’d managed similar before. Problem. Solution. Action. This was something he could do, something he could accomplish, something to ease his waspish energy. To grant him some sense of satisfaction.

There was just the trifling matter of his own mobility to deal with...

He was fairly sure the doc would want him to stay put for now, and he was also fairly sure everyone else would want her permission first before releasing him, so that meant he was on his own. The doc wasn't here though, and Roadhog... Roadhog had been napping in usual his chair for the past hour.

It was almost too perfect an opportunity. Junkrat tipped his head to the side, estimating the distance he'd have to go and his own potential to make it. In the end stubbornness and determination won out over common sense, and he chose to ignore any doubts.

Junkrat chanced another look at Roadhog. He _seemed_ to be dozing, book resting on his belly and rising and falling with his steady, wheezy breathing, but with the mask covering his face it was hard to be certain... Still, Junkrat was feeling confident. He was too happy with his plan to back down now anyway.

He turned his attention to where his peg leg sat, a few feet from the bed. If he leaned out far enough he was pretty sure he could reach it. He had the advantage of height after all.

Trying his best to be quiet, he unfurled his body and stretched his arm out toward his prize, shifting himself further off the bed. However, part way through his plan he came to the sudden realization that he wasn't feeling _quite_ as strong as he was used to, and that his position was very precarious. His eyes widened, but by then his balance had already failed him, and his desperate attempts to scrabble back to safety were in vain as he slid from the bed to the floor with an undignified shriek.

 _Fuck_ that hurt. Face locked into a grimace of pain, he drew a steadying breath through his nose, preventing any slew of profanity that threatened to spew forth. Needed to remember what he was doing. Quiet, yes. He had to be quiet.

Biting down on his lip to distract himself, he very carefully sat up, moving slowly in case his injuries protested. It hurt, but not unbearably so. Upright and emboldened by this fact, Junkrat looked around, eyes immediately latching back onto his peg leg, and he reached out for it with greedy fingers.

“What are you doing?”

Junkrat froze, caught in the act. His expression flickered before settling on a grin, and he turned his head to look somewhat sheepishly at Roadhog. “I, ah... was gonna go for a stroll?”

Roadhog folded his arms, looming over him in a way Junkrat suspected meant he was not impressed. “No.”

“Oh piss off, I ain't a bloody prisoner!” Junkrat snapped, glaring back.

Roadhog said nothing. Again, he did not seem to be impressed.

Junkrat huffed, snatching his peg leg and pulling it to his chest as he curled in on himself sulkily. “I know, but I got things to do, alright? Can't just wait for the doc to let me out.”

Roadhog considered him for a moment. “What?”

“There's... things that need fixin', and I wanna get it sorted now cos I don't know what's happenin' tomorrow and I want it done is all...” he blurted out, unable to explain the sort of urgency he felt. His fingers played over the edge of his peg leg, toying with the spring that acted as a shock stabilizer.

“Where?”

Junkrat cocked his head to the side, surprised to not be immediately shot down. The fact that Roadhog seemed to be humoring him was encouraging. He hummed to himself briefly before he decided to answer. “The workshop.”

He studied Roadhog's posture keenly, scanning for a response. He appeared to be deliberating, coming to a slow and careful decision. “I'll wheel you,” he rumbled eventually, nodding as if the matter was settled.

“Oi, I didn't ask ya to, mate, I can walk!” Junkrat insisted, and then paused, remembering his last shaky attempt to cross the room. “Probably,” he amended, with slightly less confidence.

Roadhog gave an amused sort of grunt, leaving Junkrat sitting on the floor as he went to fetch the wheelchair from its usual spot in the far corner of the room. He trundled it back, stopping right in front of him and waiting with total patience.

Junkrat eyed the chair with distaste. Then he looked up at Roadhog's mask. “Alright, fine... but just so ya know I could do it meself if I wanted to, just lettin' ya earn your keep.”

“Sure.”

Satisfied that he'd put up enough of a protest to maintain his dignity, Junkrat hefted himself up into the wheelchair with considerable difficulty, wincing with the motion. He settled his unattached peg leg across his lap, leaning back and attempting to get comfortable. His body was reluctant though, and he found himself fidgeting but unable to find a position that quite suited him. Giving up he twisted around to grin at Roadhog as a thought occurred to him.

“Oi, guess what mate?”

“Hmm?”

Junkrat's grin broadened. “I _wheelie_ hate this thing!”

Roadhog's long suffering sigh was enough to have him cackling in a very self-satisfied manner, thoroughly pleased with is own cleverness. He finally calmed down enough to sit still, and stretched one lanky arm out to point at the door. “Time to skip this joint! Um... temporarily, I mean. To freedom!”

“Know you're going right back here after?”

“Don't bleedin' well remind me. Just... help me get some things fixed, yeah? I'll be good, swear on me dubious honor and everythin'.” His smile was more toothy than innocent.

Roadhog's grunt did not sound particularly convinced, but he stepped into motion regardless, pushing the chair while Junkrat pointed and called out directions enthusiastically despite knowing that Roadhog already knew the way.

The hallways remained clear, and it was only as they came to the workshop doors that Junkrat reached back to pat Roadhog's arm in a signal to stop. “That's far enough Hoggy, I can take it from here. Got both me arms now, see? Can push this thing meself.”

Junkrat didn't need to look to sense the suspicion in Roadhog's stance.

“I'm not up ta trouble, promise, nothin's gonna explode... mostly... absolutely...” he corrected with a nervous giggle. “I just wanna do this meself, okay? Gotta do some things, elsewise what use am I, eh? You can pick me up later if ya that worried. Not like I'm gonna make a runner.”

Roadhog was regarding him with an air of total skepticism. Junkrat gazed back, willing him to understand importance of this to him, how much it meant to feel anything other than useless for a change, to accomplish something without it being handed to him, to prove that he was capable and ready once more. Prove it to himself as much as anyone else. Roadhog had to understand. He _always_ understood.

The mountain of a man grumbled, but he must have picked up on something. “Behave.”

“Right-o! I'll be good as gold, mate,” he said with a mock salute and a jaunty smile.

Roadhog did still not appear reassured. Nevertheless, he lifted a hand in a weary gesture of farewell and reluctantly lumbered away with only a few backward glances. Junkrat waited until he was out of sight before entering the workshop.

The room was immediately familiar, just as it always was, Torbjörn's station on one side and Symmetra's on the other, with his own slew of half finished projects bundled into the corner. He'd never had his own official space, but Torb didn't seem to mind sharing - provided nothing went missing - and he'd been more than happy with that arrangement. Symmetra's side was the only place that was off limits to him, and it was there that his eyes were drawn now. She was sitting at her desk. Of course she was. Her schedule was probably the most predictable thing in the base, he'd never doubted he'd find her here.

Either the sound of the doors swishing open or the awkward squeak of the wheels must have given him away, because she looked up, brow creased in mild irritation. As she took in the sight of him her manner changed, her confusion evident. “What are you doing here?”

“Maybe I thought I'd visit _you_ for a change, eh?” he suggested brightly.

“Iwas under the impression you were still recovering.”

“Yeah, well,” he said with a shrug, “prosthetics need fixing up.”

He lifted the peg leg up, waving it vaguely as if that were evidence enough. She did still not look particularly pleased. He found he was unexpectedly disappointed.

“I though Torbjörn-”

“Nah, bloke knows his stuff - did a bang up job, ain't gonna lie,” Junkrat cut her off, “but there's no accountin' for the _fiddly_ bits. He doesn't know how it's supposed to _feel_ , ya get me? But if somethin's off I know, can't help it, and that doesn't sit right. So I figure there's no harm in sorting it now, not like I got anythin' better to do...”

“I see,” she said.

He waited, but that seemed all she had to say, and his gaze darted somewhat anxiously as absent-minded fingers strayed to pick at the hem of his shorts. He pulled his grin back into place. “Ahhh come on, didn't ya miss me hangin' round here at all?”

She pondered this for a second. “It has been... different.”

Right... shit, he cursed himself for his own stupidity. “Guess it's been real quiet... probably enjoy that.”

To his surprise she did not answer immediately. Her expression turned unreadable, and when she spoke again her tone was pensive. “While quiet is often appreciated, I am more accustomed to you than I expected to be... it's good to see you here again.”

He laughed, but his grin felt more genuine this time. “Could'a fooled me.”

She blinked. “I'm sorry, that was... not my intention.”

“No worries,” he assured her, wheeling himself over to Torbjörn's absent workbench. Steering the thing was slightly harder than he'd anticipated, but thankfully there wasn't much in the way of obstacles. He dumped the peg leg before him and contemplated his options. Arm or leg first? Well... he supposed it would be easier to work once his fingers were responding in the way he was used to. He rifled through the tools, finding a suitable screwdriver and began the slow process of carefully unscrewing the plates of his arm, trying to resist the urge to hum.

Despite his preoccupation, Junkrat glanced over his shoulder, taking note of Symmetra reabsorbed in her work, drawing careful lines with total focus as she crafted her blueprints. What had he planned to say again? He'd come this far, couldn't fuck it up now...

There didn't seem to be an easy way to spit it out though, so he swallowed down his misgivings and decided to be plain.

“Was meaning to apologize to ya, actually,” he said, louder than he had intended. Oops, well… no going back now. He tilted his chin up in an endeavour to exhibit some form of confidence.

“Whatever for?” she asked, though his words had clearly caught her attention.

Junkrat found himself studying her, trying to gauge her reaction. She had not looked up from her work but she had paused, and her head was angled slightly to the side as if to indicate her curiosity. He fiddled with the screwdriver, spinning it round and around in his grip. “You know, uh, about before...”

“You will have to be more specific.”

Junkrat sighed. “Right, right... I mean on the mission. You asked me somethin', an' I maybe acted like a bit of a twat, had a lot in me head at the time, might've been a tad pissed at ya too if you want the whole truth, and I kinda just... didn't wanna think too hard, I guess, so I ended up stickin' me foot in me mouth like usual when I really should'a just said yes-”

“Jamison,” she said, with mild exasperation, “you _really_ will have to be more specific.”

“Ya asked if I thought we was friends,” he said, quickly like he had to be sure the words would get out. Here he took a pause, frowning at the screwdriver. “An' I think I told ya to piss off or somethin' to the effect... and so I'm apologizing, right? Cos if I'd've been thinkin' straight I wouldn't've blown ya off like that... and I can't go back an' fix it but I can tell it to ya proper now. The answer's yes.”

His gaze flickered up in time to see Symmetra turning to look at him. Her expression seemed uncertain. “You... remembered that?”

“Yeah... I don't forget everything ya know.”

“Still, a lot happened then. I did not expect that you would consider it important,” she told him.

Junkrat drew a sharp breath. “Course it's important. Look, I fuck up a lot, right? Least I can do is set things straight when I remember... So... mates?”

He grinned at her hopefully, leaving the question hanging. It hovered a little too long in the air for his liking, and Symmetra's lips were pursed tight in a troubled sort of way that did not encourage his confidence. He didn't understand why she appeared to be running an equation when she was the one who'd asked in the first damn place. That meant she knew the answer, right? Or had he messed it up that bad? Had he misread her entirely?

His smile grew uneasy and he began to drum the fingers of his mechanical arm against the workbench without even realizing.

Then, finally, she gave a hesitant nod. “Friends,” she agreed, and despite her previous pause her tone was assured.

Junkrat beamed, relief washing over him in a tide. “Guess I better let ya in on the secret handshake then!”

“You have a secret handshake?”

He giggled, delighted. “Nah... maybe I should make one though. Doubt Roadie would have any of it but think the other two might... You, ah... made any progress with that whole Lúcio thing?”

She nodded. “I believe so. I would not call it resolved but he does at least appear to be considering what I have to say in regards to Vishkar, and my own involvement. I suppose in all fairness I may owe you an apology as well... it has been brought to my attention that my actions were something of a misstep... I am sorry I overlooked things.”

He waved the idea aside with a careless flap of his hand. “Nah, it's all good... well, I mean it _wasn't_ but that's done with, and it was kinda me own fault too... I know ya didn't mean nothin' by it, can't rightly fault ya for a mistake when I'm so bloody good at 'em meself. That's fair, right? Symmetry?”

“Perhaps,” she said, which was close enough to an agreement for Junkrat.

In any case, he was feeling quite pleased with himself. This, at least, was apparently something he could do right. That in itself was a strange development. An encouraging one, though. Stupid how giddy such a small accomplishment could leave him feeling.

He flipped his attention back to the screwdriver in his hand, undoing the last few screws and prying the plating free. He set it aside, examining the insides. Then he gave his fingers an experimental wiggle, taking note of how the components moved. Needed to loosen a few parts, he decided.

Funny thing about his arm, really. He'd never been able to feel with it beyond the most basic of pressures, but he'd grown used to how it responded to him, how each thought would turn into movement - as natural as breathing. When it suddenly failed to translate properly he was left with the disconcerting sensation that it wasn't really his arm at all... less so than usual, anyhow.

Selecting the right tools for the job he leaned in close, itching to get to work. As he did, he found himself falling into old habits, a meaningless stream of chatter bubbling out of him. Symmetra didn't seem to mind. As usual she listened with half an ear, offering short responses when he trailed off or prompting him when he lost his place. The routine was familiar, and for a while he forgot about tomorrow entirely, lost in his task and perfectly content.

He'd missed the workshop more than he'd expected.

Junkrat was busy reattaching the plating of his arm when Roadhog returned. He caught the sound of his footsteps immediately, pausing as he recognized a peculiar urgency in the stride. Hurriedly twisting the last screw the rest of the way in he turned and held up his hands. “I've been perfectly good an' nothing exploded! Got a witness and everythin',” he insisted, gesturing wildly to Symmetra, who watched curiously from her own side of the room.

Roadhog did not appear to care. “Time to go,” he growled.

“Mate, I ain't done here! Haven't even got to the leg yet.”

“Tough luck.”

“Fuckin' hell, Roadie, what's with ya?”

No response seemed forthcoming, and Junkrat couldn't decipher the reason for it in his posture alone. Since he appeared intent on wheeling him off regardless, Junkrat snatched his leg off the workbench, gnashing his teeth in frustration.

“Alright, alright, have it your way,” he snapped, hunching forward as he cradled it to his chest. He remembered, a little late, that Symmetra was still there and his head shot up as he turned to look at her. “I'll, uh... be seein' you around I guess.”

“Take care of yourself,” she said slowly, lifting her pencil as she returned to her blueprints.

Muttering under his breath Junkrat let Roadhog steer him away.

“What's the rush then, huh?” he demanded once the doors closed behind them. “Actin' like a right hoon. Was gonna fix up me leg. Was gonna look at that bloody pulse bomb too if I got the chance. Doc on your case or somethin'?”

“Need to go back.” Roadhog's pace was quick, and his breathing rasped in and out through the filters of his mask. A brief spark of concern rose in Junkrat's chest. Something was up. Roadhog never pushed himself like this unless it was important.

“What's happenin'? We need to bail?” he asked, suddenly alert. A myriad of possibilities flooded his imagination, but there was no reply. Junkrat bared his teeth in a snarl. “Fuckin' tell me already, I ain't-”

The words died in his throat, body suddenly turning rigid as he beheld the sight before him. Floating round the corner and drifting toward the workshop in an almost meditative state was a shiny, silver omnic.

It glided closer, but as Roadhog stumbled to a halt it seemed to notice them, drawing to a stop itself. Junkrat stared in abject horror as the thing tilted its head slightly to the side, then lifted one hand in a circular sort of wave. “Greetings.”

He felt as if his eyes would pop out of his skull. His mouth hung agape for a moment, struggling to remember words. “ _Omnic_ ,” he managed to hiss urgently, scrabbling for his frag launcher before realizing it was nowhere to be found.

The bot watched this display with an air of puzzlement. “I apologize, I did not mean to startle you.”

Junkrat was having none of it though. He twisted in his seat, pawing at Roadhog desperately. “What are ya waitin' for? Scrap the thing! It's a _bot_! There's a bloody _bot_ in the base!”

Roadhog just sighed. He set a hand on Junkrat's bony shoulders and gently pushed him back into the chair, ignoring his pleading look. Junkrat was stunned. He was still shaking, body twitching in its usual flight or fight response, but nothing was happening. Roadhog wasn't pulling out his gun, wasn't snagging the thing with his hook, he was just standing there and Junkrat didn't understand. He shook his head in disbelief.

“There's a fuckin' _omnic_ here,” he said, as if that wasn't clear already.

Roadhog's mask was as impassive as always, and Junkrat felt slightly queasy. He didn’t need a face to read him. Roadhog was not pleased, but nor was he surprised. “I know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you guys remember when I mentioned new recruits ages back? Well yeah... poor Rat can't catch a break. To save any confusion I've been running under the assumption that Junkrat joined Overwatch before any of the omnic cast because it didn't seem particularly realistic to me for him to sign up willingly if he knew he'd have to be working alongside bots.  
> Thanks again to sladdertacka for doing some proofreading.


	18. Chapter 18

The immediate sense of betrayal cut deep. Junkrat pulled away, looking wounded.

“Ya knew about this?” he demanded, his jaw clenched tight and hands curling into fists. “Kept it secret?”

Roadhog said nothing, but Junkrat was beginning to puzzle things together by himself. It suddenly all made sense. “Ya _all_ knew, didn't ya? Y’were all bloody well in on it, that's why ya never wanted me goin' anywhere by meself! Fuck, why would they do this? Even _you_ ... They mess with yer ‘ead or somethin'? Tryin' ta mess with _mine_ ? _Why_ , what’s the _point_?!”

His voice rose to a near shriek, eyes burning with unchecked fury.

Those glass lenses stared back, no answer in their depths.

He'd always known it. You couldn't trust anyone, they'd always turn on you. Act like your mate, then fuck you over when it was convenient. He'd been a fool to think this was any different. That’s what you got for thinking you had friends, they tossed you aside for some talking scrap heap without so much as a second thought... They'd lied to him, or as good as lied, left him helpless while this _Omnic_ floated around the base as it pleased.

“You appear distressed, if you would allow me to-” the thing began, but Junkrat snarled at it.

“Don't you _fuckin'_ come near me or I'll strip ya for parts, ya fuckin’ pile a’ _junk_!” he warned, tensed in the chair, as if readying himself to lunge at it.

Roadhog's heavy hand settled on his shoulder again, not enough pressure to hold him still, but enough to remind him of what would probably happen if he tried anything. No, he couldn’t do anything here. He was still shaking, heart pounding in his chest.

The omnic hovered for a few terse seconds. “I'm sorry, I was simply offering to help.”

Roadhog leaned closer to the thing and his tone was dangerously low. “Don't need your help. Piss off.”

_Clearly_ that had the more desired effect. The thing veered back for a second, as if affronted, but it quickly regained its composure and sat up straight, re-clasping its hands in its lap. Junkrat loathed how calm it appeared. As if it was somehow better than them. More civilized, when it wasn't even a person at all.

“Very well,” it said, in a way that somehow managed to come across as mockingly cheerful, despite the robotic filter of its voice, “I wish you both a pleasant evening.”

With another circular wave the omnic floated off down the corridor, leaving Junkrat seething in the wheelchair as he glared after it. He gripped hold of his peg leg, wielding the prosthetic like he planned to beat someone to death with it. Maybe he did. Junkrat didn't know anymore. Heck, he was tempted to throw it at the retreating omnic, but even he knew better than to give the thing his leg. Wasn't worth any satisfaction clocking the rust bucket over the head would give him. Didn't mean he didn't think about it anyway.

Roadhog stepped into motion, wheeling the chair in the other direction, back toward the medical ward. Junkrat spun his head round. “Oi, you're not off the hook, mate! I wanna know what the bloody hell is going on!”

“You're going back.”

“Fuck _that_ ! I'm not goin' anywhere until ya give me answers! What happened? Since when are _you_ so chummy with bots? Why'd ya never say anythin'? Why's Overwatch keepin' things from me? Is this Soldier's idea? No, _stop the bloody chair_ , I said I'm not goin' till ya tell me!” Junkrat hissed, sticking his leg out to try and slow their progress.

Roadhog stopped. More likely he didn't want Junkrat to hurt himself struggling, rather than anything, but Junkrat would take what he could get. He was still too angry to think clearly.

“ _Why_ ? Why'd ya’ all _lie_?” he all but whined.

“Didn't lie. Just didn't tell you.”

“But _why_?” he insisted.

Roadhog sighed. “Cos I knew you'd react like this.”

“Like wot, mate? The bloody _normal_ reaction to findin' out we're keepin' _bots_ about the place? Why didn't ya just shoot it! What's _wrong_ with ya!” he snapped, waving the peg leg around again violently.

“Think about it,” Roadhog said slowly, with the peculiar patience he seemed to dredge up at times like these. Like he was dealing with an idiot. Junkrat hated it, hated this, hated never seeming to be able to get a solid grip on his life.

He sneered. “Think about _what_? That you're a bot lover now?”

That appeared to be a step too far. Roadhog's posture stiffened. “Fine, shut up and listen then. Don't like it any more than you do,” he said gruffly, “but you were down and out, and I couldn't make a decision until later. Do you get it? If we kill the bot... we leave. That's what you want then whatever, but Overwatch wants this thing and you can't have them without it. It's your call.”

Junkrat narrowed his eyes. “What do they want a bot for?”

“How should I know?”

He frowned, trying to pull himself together enough to consider the matter. Couldn't be any need for a maintenance bot, so they couldn't... they didn't _actually_ want it to be part of the team, did they? Hooley dooley... of course they'd be that stupid, they trusted anyone. They'd let him in, a wanted criminal with a bounty on his head... and he'd been as much of an idiot to think he could trust them.

He'd been wrong.

Fuck, Roadhog had warned him, hadn't he? He'd said that this might not last. Junkrat had thought it was just his usual pessimistic way but maybe he'd seen where this was all going, how it would end... Junkrat just hadn't wanted to believe him. Still didn't.

Did it have to end? He didn't... he didn't want it to. Perhaps this had always been inevitable... He'd let them down on the mission and now they'd let him down in turn, proven that it would never work, that he'd just been dreaming... This wasn't home. He'd never have a home...

He let the pegleg drop into his lap, hands straying to his head as he began to tug at his hair. “What do I do?” he asked in a voice that sounded pitifully quiet compared to his usual volume. “What?”

“Your choice,” Roadhog said plainly. He stood there, stoically, silent save for his breathing as he waited for Junkrat.

He wanted... he wanted to hate them, he supposed, for this treachery, for all of this mess, but it was so hard. When he thought of Lucio and D.Va, Symmetra, even Mercy and the others like the cowboy or Reinhardt... he just felt hurt. It stung. Painfully, like salt in a wound, like the jagged ache of a phantom limb... He couldn’t help but remember them all visiting him, all the kind words and gifts… had that just been an act? Had it just been because they wanted to keep him under their thumb, do as they wanted? Sneak this bot past him?

No, no, Overwatch wasn’t like that, sometimes there weren’t reasons, not the kind he could articulate anyway… Lucio and D.Va, at least, he was sure had been genuine in their attentions. Maybe the simple truth was that they… that despite letting him join, they didn’t trust him. Now why did _that_ hurt?

He wasn’t built for this. Would have been so much easier if he could just hate all of them. Would have made it easy to give up. To walk away... to leave the past in ash and ruins like he was used to. But hate refused to kindle in his heart.

Junkrat didn't want to lose this, and he'd said it to himself before... if you wanted something, _really_ wanted it, you had to decide if it was worth the risk and when it was... when it was you stole it, tore it from your enemy's hands if you had to, but you made it yours and you never surrendered a thing.

Tentatively Junkrat lowered his shaking hands away from his disheveled hair. He clenched his jaw, and when he glared back at Roadhog there was a fierceness in his orange eyes.

“This place is _mine_ , yeah? I ain't gonna let some stupid bot take it from me. Don't care what they say, but there's no way I'm leavin' before _that_ thing. I got here first,” he spat.

Roadhog nodded, and gave a single grunt of approval. He pushed the wheelchair back into motion and this time Junkrat didn't protest but merely stared ahead as he attempted to focus himself beyond his boiling emotions. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t giving up. Somehow, he’d find a way to fix this too, to set everything right again, somehow…

 

* * *

That night was a restless one. He'd never been a deep sleeper, but shut eye was impossible with the newest developments and the complications of tomorrow weighing down on his consciousness. He longed to burn something, to destroy something, to blast that stupid omnic to pieces...

Yet he couldn't. All he could do was mutter to himself, tossing and turning, trying to console himself with fantasies of carnage he had no way to enact. Had to be cunning, mindless destruction wasn't the way forward, at least not for now...

When Mercy breezed in the following morning with her coffee in hand, Junkrat was hunched over his notebook, pencil chewed down to a stump.

“Up early today are we?” she asked pleasantly, picking up a chart and going to check on the machines.

Junkrat paused. He tapped the pencil idly against the notebook. “Things to do. Gotta plan out some tweaks for the tire.”

“And that is what's concerning you today?”

“I haven't forgotten Hector if that's what ya askin',” he muttered. He tossed the notebook onto the side table along with the pencil and sat up straighter, arms folded across his chest. “You been hidin' shit from me, haven't ya?”

Mercy blinked, raising her eyebrows at the sudden accusation. “I beg your pardon?”

He scrutinised her. No way she was blind to all this, it had been her doing, for sure, and he wasn’t going to let that be swept under the rug no matter how brightly she smiled.

“Don't play dumb doc, I saw it all last night. You got an omnic livin' here. How long were ya plannin' to keep _that_ a secret, eh?” Junkrat demanded.

“Oh...” she said. She folded her own arms to mirror him, looking him over contemplatively. “I suppose you ignored my suggestion to rest then?”

He gave a sharp laugh. “How do ya expect me to rest knowin' you've been hidin' a rust bucket under my nose this whole time? Thought ya wanted to make sure there was no misunderstandings between us, but ya ain't doin' a very good job of that, I can tell ya.”

He didn't bother trying to hide his anger, his expression was more than clear and he wanted her to know anyway, was important that she understood he wasn't going to just let everything slide. You had to draw lines.

She was regarding him cautiously, but despite his obvious frustration Junkrat made no move toward her, no sign of anything dramatic, not that he hadn't contemplated it in the hours leading up to this. He'd already made his mind up. The doc wasn't his enemy. Not really. Whatever wariness he still held to her, he wanted to keep it that way. But that didn’t mean he had to accept everything she threw at him.

She seemed to be thinking the same thing, because her posture was as calming as her tone. “Jamison... I understand this may be upsetting for you, but you should know that is precisely why we chose to keep it quiet. You were under a lot of stress given your situation, it seemed wise not to add more to your troubles until you were feeling better.”

“And you get to decide that for me? What I can and can't know?” he asked with open disdain.

Mercy held her hands up in a sign of peace. “No one wanted to overwhelm you. I believe Winston planned to discuss the matter of our newest recruit after they reached a conclusion from your debriefing, not before.”

“Well I don't like it,” Junkrat said. “An’ not just about the bot. Don't go lying to me, don't hide shit! I ain't made of glass and I'll decide what I bloody well can and can't take. We clear on that?”

He made sure to direct his flighty gaze to her, meeting her eyes for a terse few seconds until she looked away.

She nodded. “I understand.”

He watched her for a moment longer, but she seemed sincere, as far as he could tell. With a sigh Junkrat leaned back, settling more comfortably. “Good. Now, ya goin' to check me outta here or what?”

Although the conversation had clearly thrown her the doc was used to falling into the rhythm of her work. Mercy ran over her usual tests, asked her usual questions and fiddled with her usual machines as if none of the last few minutes had happened at all. She was nearly done with him by the time Roadhog arrived. Junkrat busied himself attaching his pegleg as he waited.

“You mustn't strain yourself, remember,” Mercy warned, scribbling out the final details on one of her forms. “I want you to rest as much as you can. That means keeping walking to a minimum for now until I'm confident your condition has improved enough. I'll be checking on you every day, so no misbehaving.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

“I am serious. Don't overexert yourself.”

“I got it, doc,” he said with a careless flap of his hand.

Mercy sighed. Whatever else was on her mind she seemed to accept that there was little else she could do. “Very well. I can't keep you here, you're clear to go. Morrison will get Athena to notify you once they are ready to meet, stay out of trouble until then.”

Junkrat insisted on wheeling himself out, though he let Roadhog take over once they were a good way down the corridor.

“Where you going?” his companion asked.

“Where d'ya think?” Junkrat said. “Gotta fix the leg since ya didn't give me the chance yesterday.”

“Sure you need to?”

“What else am I gonna do? Sit around waitin'? Nah, needs sortin' so I might as well...”

Roadhog turned silent for a moment, though he continued to wheel the chair. “You're still angry.”

“Course I am mate…” he muttered, “but ya don't gotta worry, I ain't plannin' on blowin' anything up just yet. Figure it's worth savin' anything more explosive for plan B, maybe make it look like an accident if we have to. But just so we've got this straight... don't hide crap like that from me again, yeah? We're supposed to be a mates, fifty-fifty, that means no bullshit.”

“No bullshit,” Roadhog agreed, and Junkrat could only hope that was the truth. He could trust Hog. That was the one constant he'd been sure of for the last three years, he wasn't sure what he would do if that turned out to be another lie too. No thinking about that though... there were things he didn't want his mind dwelling on.

“Right,” he agreed in turn.

There was no Symmetra in the workshop this time, her schedule had her elsewhere, but Torbjorn was present and greeted them warmly. As prickly as the poor tempered engineer could be, he had a great deal of affection for his fellow agents, no matter how he denied it. Seeing Junkrat back in his favorite tinkering spot apparently put him in a good mood, and he even offered a bunch of scrap left over from some of his recent projects for whatever Junkrat wanted to cook up.

Junkrat kept his grin in place and prattled away pleasantly enough as he tweaked his peg leg into working order. After an hour a slightly wobbly circuit of the room finally had him satisfied.

While his instinct was to insist on walking for the rest of the day, he reluctantly returned to the chair once he was done. Stubborn as he was, it made sense to save his strength. No telling when he might need it now. There was more than his dignity at stake...

He spent the remainder of his time beginning to dissect the pulse bomb Tracer had left for him, but was interrupted halfway through when Athena politely informed him that his presence was requested in the briefing room. With a curse, he made sure it wasn't in danger of exploding unprovoked and left it behind.

The journey was solemn. Roadhog was often quiet, but it was less common for Junkrat. He still fidgeted non-stop, running through scenarios in his head as he grappled for an answer he'd thus far been unable to snare. He shifted in his seat, chewed at his nails, scratched at the freshly healed skin from his wounds, messed with his hair, picked at the patches on his shorts, but none of it really settled him. When they arrived he was just as tightly wound as before.

Winston, Soldier and Ana were all gathered at a table, and their eyes immediately shot to him as he rolled in.

Junkrat swallowed. “G'day,” he managed, with a wide smile. Only Ana smiled back, but that might just have been because the other two were watching Roadhog. They looked as if they were contemplating asking him to leave, but Roadhog just squared his shoulders and they quickly decided it would be a futile effort.

“It's, ah, good to see you looking well,” Winston said kindly, shuffling his papers.

“Well, ya know me,” Junkrat told him, “ain't the first time I got meself into trouble, I tend to bounce back. Ain't about to cark it that easily.”

“And you've been minding Angela's instructions?” Ana asked.

“Who, the doc? Yeah, course. That ain't what this is about though so let's get it over with shall we? Ya wanted me for a debriefing, but seein' as ya _all_ here I'm guessin' this ain't like the usual shindig.”

“Well... there are... incidents involving the last mission that make us... uh... particularly interested in your account,” Winston said, attempting to speak tactfully.

“Ya mean ya wanna know why I shot that bloke?”

“Uhhh...”

“Well at least you admit it,” Soldier said coldly. While Winston’s posture was awkward, and Ana’s calm, he held the same air of severity he always did, sitting straight with his hands folded on the table in front of him. “But start at the beginning.”

Junkrat pulled a face at him, but he nodded, scratching at his chin as if pondering for a moment. “Right, well, let me see...”

He recounted as much as he could remember in his usual fashion, which was to say his description was faltering, prone to long tangents, and he frequently needed to backtrack to keep some kind of linear progression. But Junkrat figured it was fairly orderly by his standards. He had all the important bits. Hector, Talon, Mercy, Sombra, his own desperate and final rash decision to give the enemy something to reckon with.

They only interrupted him when he went too wildly off track, but otherwise they seemed intent on listening rather than scolding him. That was good, right? As he nattered on he could only hope so. He tapped anxiously at the chair's armrest, trying to focus on Hog's steady wheezing breaths rather than the unreadable expressions on their faces.

When he eventually finished he found he didn't quite want to stop speaking. Felt as if when he did then he'd ultimately have to face whatever they had to say. Would have to see if they would condemn him, judge him just cos he didn't follow quite the same fancy code they adhered to.

But they wouldn't cast him out, would they? This wasn't Junkertown. He wasn't about to lose all this now, not cos of some stupid bloke with a silver gun, not cos of some bloody bot...

Finally Soldier held up a hand to silence him after his second unrelated anecdote, and Junkrat snapped his mouth closed, eyes flickering across them. They were thinking, he could tell that much, but he couldn't decipher anything more telling than that.

“So you claim it was self defense then?” Soldier asked.

“Well, tried to shoot me, didn't he? Ain't like I had a choice.”

“But was it you or him who shot first?” Soldier persisted.

“Shot at the same time, mate, I saw what he was tryin' an' I wasn't about to have any of it.”

“Yet you did not attempt to subdue him non-lethally, even when you had disarmed him? To restrain him?”

“I'm a demolitions expert, ya think that's what I'm good at?” Junkrat said. Typical it was Soldier who would want to prod, bloke never let up. “Don't see what the big deal is if I'm honest... ya got no problem when it comes to Talon.”

“Because Talon is working against us. Hector was an old ally, there is a difference,” Soldier said, although Junkrat already knew that.

He sniffed, unimpressed. “Well, he weren't _my_ ally, can tell ya that.”

Soldier opened his mouth to retort, but Ana beat him to it. “Lets not get caught up in semantics now, shall we?”

Visibly restraining himself Soldier gave a tight nod, but allowed the rest of his body to relax. Junkrat watched him suspiciously. Had Hector been a friend of his too? Wasn't like he was going to ask. Their relationship was strained enough without pressuring for details on something like that, and he didn’t give a toss either way.

“So... what's the story? Am I in the clear?” he asked, trying his best to sound light.

“I think we'd best discuss amongst ourselves before we come to any final decision,” the sniper told him gently, giving a motherly smile.

It didn't satisfy Junkrat though, and he scowled, hunching forward to gnaw at his nails. “So ya want me to just wait?”

“Your account had been very helpful, but it's given us a lot to think about,” Winston said, “and not just about... well, not just about that. You say you knew this Sombra from Dorado?”

Oh. He paused for a second, running through his memory. “Uh... well _she_ did. Don't remember meself. Ya got anythin' Roadie?” He glanced back at Roadhog, but the man said nothing, so Junkrat just shrugged.

“More troubling that Talon knew you would be there... bit much of a coincidence, don't you think?” Ana said quietly. Her and Soldier exchanged a glance.

“You think we have an information leak?” Soldier's gaze immediately swiveled to Junkrat.

Junkrat seethed. “Oi, what ya lookin' at me for?”

Soldier looked almost embarrassed for an instant, but he shook it off, strengthening his resolve. “Well, you do have a criminal record...”

That bloody...

“Oh fuck off, that don't mean nothin'! Ya think I tried to sell ya out then blew meself up cos I was bored or somethin'? Maybe I ain't so upstandin' as all you sorts, but that don't mean I don't got principles. Besides, me and them Talon fucks ain't exactly on the best terms.”

“Manners, dear,” Ana reminded him and Junkrat gave a brief wave to show he had heard.

“No one's accusing you,” Winston said.

“Ya sure about that? Cos he sure looks like he's thinkin' about it,” Junkrat snapped, jabbing a finger in Soldier's direction. “This is all his fault, ya know. Told him this mission wouldn't go well. Told him I'd tell him so. And see, I remembered! So _ha_! What do ya say to that?”

“That's not how you address a superior officer,” Soldier said, narrowing his eyes.

Prick always insisted on acting so proper. That was the last straw for Junkrat, no way in hell he was going to let this bloke look down on him.

Junkrat pushed up from his chair, wobbling slightly but quickly finding his balance. Hurt to stand so tall but now was not the time to show weakness, not when he wanted to make his point.

“I'm just sayin' the truth,” he snapped, advancing a step, “which is better than _you_ lot. Don't think I don't know. I ain't stupid. Ya got an _omnic_ here. Ya wanna find your information leak? _That's_ where ya should be lookin'. Ya can't trust them things, on my oath, they ain't worth the scrap.”

A deathly silence fell.

Soldier was the first to speak. “Zenyatta is a friend of Genji's, and was kind enough to offer his assistance, he is perfectly trustworthy.”

Junkrat just snorted. “It's a bot. Ya just gotta look at Oz to see what they're like, they're the reason the outback's the way it is.”

“As _I_ recall, Fawkes, it that was the doing of your own extremists-”

Junkrat tensed and Roadhog growled.

“Perhaps that's enough for now,” Ana cut in smoothly, getting to her own feet. “We're all well aware of Australia's history and the Omnic crisis, and how both of you may feel, but that's not the issue at the moment. You're not the only two with a dislike for omnics, and the others have agreed to remain civil, so I'm sure we can trust you to behave too, hmmmm? Why don't we all take a break and come back once we've worked out the matter of your last mission?”

“I think that sounds like a great idea!” Winston said with relief. He adjusted his glasses, looking hopefully at the rest of the room's occupants.

“Yeah, whatever,” Junkrat muttered, and Soldier gave his own begrudging agreement.

All it meant to Junkrat was more waiting. More time left to stew over this, and he didn't understand why they just couldn't give him a bloody answer now, let him work out what kind of ground he was on so he could figure out how to deal with the bot, but they just let all these jumbled threads tangle together until he felt trapped. He really wanted to destroy something.

He staggered out of the room with what dignity he had, and collapsed into the wheelchair when they were out of view. He was paradoxically exhausted and frantic, but no immediate solution was at hand.

“Oi Hog?” he said, as the departed. “Ya wanna go test out a pulse bomb?”

“Okay.”

That was comforting enough, and he let the larger man steer the way. Hog understood. One person was better than nothing...

His mind drifted back over the mess of the debriefing, and his grin turned sour. He knew he didn’t have the best temper, knew he didn’t have the best way with words, but still…

“Shouldn't have yelled, should I? Ya reckon I blew it?”

His bodyguard made a noncommittal grunt. “We'll see.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel so-so about this chapter, but as I always say, keep moving forward...  
> Also thanks to Blizzard for immediately contradicting my Mercy theory... but hey, Moira is awesome and I adore her, so I'll forgive it.
> 
> Also a heads up I've just set up a [writing blog](https://spectre-writes.tumblr.com) (mostly cos I wanted to separate from my [art blog](http://spectre-draws.tumblr.com)), so if you want you can follow/pester me on there for updates and stuff... or send weird anon messages... idk


	19. Chapter 19

_ Zenyatta _ they called it, but Junkrat refused to use the name. Names were for people, not for  _ things _ , for machines that pretended they were alive. An omnic was an omnic, and omnics weren't  _ human _ , they couldn't be trusted.

He spent the passing days avoiding  _ it _ as best he could, eyes alert for any sign of the creepy, floating rustbucket, choosing different routes or scarpering from a room should it drift in. His improving health made the task a little easier, finally being done with the chair and onto crutches. Mercy seemed pleased with his progress, but Junkrat was still impatient. Until he was back to his usual shape, he felt unsettled. The bloody omnic just made things  _ worse _ .

At least some of his troubles could be laid to rest. The senior Overwatch agents seemed to have drawn their conclusion, and from what he could understand he was off the hook. Sure, he was suspended from active duty, but Junkrat figured he wouldn't have been doing much while he was recovering anyway, and maybe they'd mentioned something about his record too, but Junkrat didn't give a damn about records. That was all paperwork, and the only time he really cared about paperwork was if it was printed dollar bills.

They seemed to have other stuff on their minds, Talon stuff, and if that kept them off his back, then Junkrat was pleased. Didn't stop Soldier glaring at him when he passed by, but Junkrat just grinned back. That seemed to piss the guy off even  _ more _ , which only encouraged him to grin wider.

Hana and Lucio were the other worry... He'd promised them the truth, and he guessed he owed it.

So, he'd told them the whole story. Told them he'd killed Hector. Told them everything he could remember from that night, because there was no way to twist his way out of this one, and if he was gonna talk about it he was gonna say it all, ‘cos it was easy once he'd started, and he'd rather spill the tale in one breathless go than in short, stuttering bolts, never certain what they were thinking…

When he was finally done, they were silent.

Immediately, Junkrat itched to move, to find a distraction, but he was too deeply focused on the pair of them, taut for some kind of response. He needed to know,  _ needed _ to know now,  _ needed- _

Hana was the first to speak. “We kinda suspected as much.”

Junkrat's breath caught. “Ya did?”

“Yeah...” Lucio said, quieter. He was looking at the ground, mouth turned down slightly in an expression that was near regretful. “Look, I'm not saying I'm happy about it, but I gotta believe you had your reasons. If you really thought he was gonna kill you, then I understand.”

Junkrat didn't know what he'd been expecting. Something dramatic, probably. But the moment passed and there was only a mellow hush, and all of that pent up anxiety, that tension, bled out and left him feeling oddly hollow.

“Y’ain't pissed at me?”

“ _ Should _ we be?” Hana asked.

Junkrat fidgeted. “Dunno. Figured ya might be. Figured... dunno what I figured...”

“Well, it's done now,” she sighed. “There's no changing what happened. We trust you, if you think it had to be done, then... That's good enough for me.”

“We've got your back, alright man?”

For some reason, his throat felt oddly tight, and Junkrat hated this. There probably wasn't any reason he deserved this, but they still smiled at him, still looked as if they believed he had the best of intentions, that deep down he was good, like them, and he had to wonder  _ why _ . It was as baffling as it was... unexpectedly painful.

Because he wasn't. He'd never thought himself particularly cruel, nor villainous, but he had no illusions about himself. He'd done some pretty fucked up things, and he probably still  _ would, _ somewhere down the line, because that's just how he was, just how he'd learned to be. Junkers weren't known for their moralistic approach. Heck, he was still learning what most people even considered right or wrong.

And yet... They trusted him, and the weight of that was near smothering, exactly the sort of thing he’d wanted to run from... He wasn't used to people looking at him like this, believing in him in  _ any _ kind of way... you weren't ever going to let anyone down when they never gave a toss about you in the first place... it was liberating... but now things were different…

A double edged sword, really. As much as he liked them, as much as Overwatch meant to him, it was slowly dawning on him that when you  _ actually _ cared about people the idea of letting them down was unpleasant. And why  _ was _ that? Why was it that, the closer he felt he got to something, the more confusing it became?

It was too difficult a problem to work his head around for the moment, though, so he simply scrubbed a hand at his face as if to rub it away, and worked up a grin. “Appreciate it,” he murmured to them.

“You know what  _ I _ think?” Hana declared. “You're out of medical now, that calls for a celebration! What do you guys say to a proper games night, my place? I stocked up on snacks and everything!”

“Sounds like ya had this planned,” Junkrat said.

“ _ Maybe _ ,” she said, with a sly smile. “So, you in or what?”

Junkrat hesitated. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah I guess so.”

There, at least, they found a familiar routine.

Games night was something he could use to ground himself, to remember how things  _ ought _ to be. Even if he had to wheel himself or limp in on his crutches, it was something that was familiar and pleasant, almost enough to make him forget the omnic lurking in their midst.

As the days continued to pass, there wasn't a lot for Junkrat to do. Beyond busying himself in the workshop to restock his supply of mines, grenades, and other fun contraptions, he was more or less free to do as he pleased- although Roadhog kept a watchful eye any time he snuck out to the training range, in case he tried anything too strenuous.

He spent a lot of it trying to work out the bot's routine.

He knew it tended to be absent in the early morning, apparently enjoying meditating outside with the sunrise. He knew it visited the medical ward, and the workshop, and was often seen in the company of the cyborg. He also discovered, to his delight, that apparently Torbjorn and the Russian lady seemed to hold it in similar disdain, and it was encouraging to know that the entire base hadn't been won over by the smooth, robotic tones of the machine.

Torbjorn's gruff and unwelcoming attitude also tended to make it’s visits to the workshop shorter than Junkrat expected they would otherwise be, and his respect for the engineer rose a notch.

He hated seeing the thing in the workshop. Made a place he'd come to think of with fondness suddenly unsafe, tainted, and he spent a while considering boobytrapping it before reluctantly deciding that Symmetra was unlikely to allow him.

What he needed to devote himself to was a plan.

Once the omnic was gone, then things would be perfect, he just needed to make it  _ happen _ …

The debriefing had made it clear that the senior Overwatch agents wouldn't listen to reason, so convincing them of how dangerous the thing was to keep around seemed unlikely, and he didn't want to stir up more trouble with them by kicking up a fuss. Sometimes folk just didn't understand.

So, that left plan B.

Explosives, he decided, weren't an option since they were pretty much his trademark. He needed to be careful with this. As much as he longed to just smash that omnic to pieces, he couldn't just  _ rush _ it.

As had become the norm, Junkrat scribbled out and immediately burned several plans, gnashing his teeth together in frustration and flopping down onto the floor of his room. He scowled at the ceiling.

How long had it been since the  _ thing _ had appeared? How long had he just sat back, letting it worm its way into his home?

_ Home? _

He paused for a second, wondering at the word. Was that what  _ this _ was now?

Junkrat began to chew on his nails, expression troubled.

Fuck, wasn't like it  _ mattered _ , right? What mattered was making sure the bloody  _ bot _ wasn't here, not fussing about the weird feelings that stirred in his chest. Once it was gone, then he could worry about that other crap, but he needed priorities, ‘cos that was important, and his number one priority wasn't about to change.

The only real question was how the bloody hell he intended to make it happen…

He sat up, staring at the notebook lying beside him, ragged edges from the pages he'd torn out in a temper reminding him of how much time he'd wasted already.

“Y’ain't no help,” he told it, just so it understood.

He heard a grunt, and glanced at Hog momentarily before waving a hand as if wafting something away. “Nah, not you mate, though y’ain't contributin' much, either. Not that I'm complainin', mind, I'm the  _ real _ mastermind of this operation after all, as ya know.”

His bodyguard seemed to accept this, turning back to his book.

The big lug had taken to sticking closer to him than usual since the aftermath of the mission, even as he healed. Junkrat supposed he accepted it. Hog was familiar, made him feel a little more comfortable, even with the bot about, but it irked him sometimes when it reminded him of his own vulnerability. He wasn't weak. He  _ refused _ to be weak. Maybe his body was still sore and didn't move quite like it was supposed to, but he could still kill anyone looking for a fight and anyone who thought otherwise would quickly learn their mistake.

He was beginning to feel antsy again, an hour sulking in his room was too long and he needed to find something to settle his mind. Junkrat hauled himself upright, stretching.

“Gonna get a refill,” he told Roadhog, shaking his empty flask.

His bodyguard looked up, tilting his head questioningly.

“Nah, stay put, I'll just be a tick.” Junkrat slung his launcher over his shoulder and gathered his crutches. It was a little awkward, but the the weight of the weapon bouncing against him with every lurching step was comforting. It had been a while since he'd bothered with it around the base, not since his arrival, but given the situation he remained on guard, and intended to keep it that way until such time as things were back to normal.

He hummed to himself, clunking his way off to the kitchen. The prospect of boba tea always put him in a good mood.

He'd fill up his flask, and maybe grab something to eat too... when  _ was _ the last time he'd eaten? He wasn't sure, but he felt like he was hungry enough. Maybe he'd get something for Hog, too? Yeah, then maybe he could get the lug to drag some stuff out to the training range for him, blow off a bit of steam. He'd been working on some new prototypes based off what he'd learned from Tracer's pulse bomb, and he needed to work the kinks out still.

Then he needed to see what Lucio was up to, ‘cos he'd been making some new music thing lately, and it was fun to see it fall into place bit by bit as the rhythm formed itself in a way that seemed near mystical to Junkrat, and listening to the DJ chat about it was almost as good.

Oh, and he hadn't visited Symmetra either, and the cowboy had promised to teach him a new game of cards last time they talked, and-

And suddenly Junkrat staggered to a halt, because hovering in the kitchen was the shiny silver form of the omnic, conversing pleasantly with D.Va, and all his thoughts tumbled over one another and became lost amongst his growing, seething mass of hatred.

He fucking  _ loathed _ that tin can. It shouldn't be here. It had  _ no right _ to be here. Yet there it was, in the kitchen of all places, talking to someone it had  _ no right _ to be speaking to. Ruining  _ everything _ .

The thing was untrustworthy, dangerous, and he didn't want it near her, seeing it around Lucio or D.Va was somehow worse than with anyone else. The thought of it talking to them with its gentle robotic tones and stealing their affections away, making them enjoy  _ it’s _ company... the whole idea made him  _ sick _ .

So, this time, Junkrat didn't turn around and evade the thing,  _ this _ time he swung forward on his crutches and entered the kitchen as loudly as he could, every bit of hostility written all over his face.

D.Va glanced up at the noise first. She paused, concern flickering across her features though she quickly managed a smile and a wave. “Hiya, Rat!”

The omnic turned at that, offering its own greeting. Junkrat just glared at it.

“Far as  _ I _ know ya don't eat or drink nothin', so what ya doin'  _ here _ ?” he demanded.

“You are correct,” it said smoothly, “I do not, but I took the liberty of preparing some tea for Genji. He seems troubled of late, and I thought it might do him some good.”

It gestured to the fresh cup on the counter as if to prove itself, some herbal concoction by the smell of it. Junkrat just narrowed his eyes.

“Well, if ya done then maybe ya should go give it to 'im, rather than hangin' about in everyone's bloody way.”

“I suppose I should,” it said. It picked up the cup, turning to incline its head to D.Va. “Thank you for the conversation Hana, it was most pleasant.”

“Sure...” she said, looking uncertain.

Holding the cup with both hands, it floated off toward the doorway, and Junkrat tensed as it approached, taking a step away. His fingers itched to find his frag launcher. His body screamed at him to move. He needed to kill it, now, before it got too close, before it could reach him and... and…

But as it approached the thing only offered him a polite nod.

“Farewell,” it said, before drifting away. Junkrat let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

He scowled, gritting his teeth as he fought off a wave of unease and listened to his heartbeat slow. Then he shook himself, and limped over to the counter.

D.Va had her chin propped up in her hand, and was regarding him as he set his flask down and rummaged through the cupboards. “That was pretty rude, you know.”

He snorted. “It's a  _ bot _ .”

“So?”

“So there's no point in wastin' manners on a bloody  _ trashcan _ .”

She winced. “ _ Maybe _ don't say that kind of stuff around the others, it's not very PC.”

“Well that's their problem then, ain't it?” Junkrat said, only glancing back out of habit before he turned back to his task, pulling the ingredient for his drink out and dumping it on the counter.

She drummed her fingers on the table. “Alright, I'm gonna say it. You remember how Lucio had a thing about Satya because of what Vishkar did?”

“Yeah, what about it?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Well it's a  _ bit _ like that, isn't it?”

That caught his attention. He turned around, folding his arms. “How d’ya figure?”

D.Va appeared to be considering her response. “Look...” she began, her voice losing its usual girlish enthusiasm, “Satya isn't responsible for what Vishkar did. And Zen... he's not responsible for everything  _ omnics _ have done, either. I don't think he was even around during the omnic crisis. He's supposed to be part of the team now.”

Junkrat was not impressed. Bad enough seeing her talking to the thing, worse seeing her  _ defending _ it. Fuckin' omnic had probably been sidling up to them behind his back, fooling them into thinking it was an actual person. He should have gotten rid of it already. He should have gotten rid of it the moment he knew it existed, screw the consequences.

“Doesn't change the fact it's a  _ bot! _ ,” he snapped, eyes blazing. “Ya know the stuff they've done, eh? Think they're so innocent?”

D.Va straightened up, head raised defiantly. “MEKA was  _ formed _ to fight an omnic, I've seen... I've seen plenty of stuff, so I  _ know _ . But you also know what? Some of my fans are omnics.”

Junkrat pulled a disgusted face. The very idea made his skin crawl.

She sighed, sinking back in her seat. “Yeah...  _ I _ felt pretty weird about it too to start with... but they're not bad. Not all of them. I think they just want to live their lives, same as us. I don't think I can ever look at them the same way Lucio does, but it wasn't  _ them _ who did all that stuff... hurting them doesn't make anything better.”

“How d’ya know if ya don't try?”

D.Va looked at him almost sadly. “It sucks, Rat, it really does... but sometimes you just have to let things go, at least on the surface. It's best for PR.”

Junkrat pursed his lips, gaze flickering away. She didn't understand. She  _ couldn't _ , not really. Only Hog could truly grasp what he felt when it came to bots, and the bloke had as much reason to loathe them himself, the pair of them were a product of the mess the machines had left behind. “I can't,” he muttered, shoulders hunching forward. “I ain't like you, I jus’  _ can't _ .”

“Sure you can. Just takes a little practice.” She gave an encouraging smile, attempting to meet his eyes. “Not like you have a choice, right? It's like... you've gotta sink or swim, yeah?”

“Pretty sure I only sink,” he said, laughing mechanically, “metal ain't too floaty.”

He lifted his mechanical arm, gesturing to it and then his pegleg.

D.Va was at least willing to pity him with a small giggle. “It's a metaphor, dummy, stop trying to make a crappy joke out of things. But really. You don't have to  _ like _ him, you just have to  _ pretend _ , okay? Otherwise... otherwise things will just get messy and I  _ really _ don't want to see that happen.”

Junkrat huffed, but...  _ Metal... wasn't floaty... it sunk... _ and somewhere, in the chaos of his brain a plan was beginning to slot itself together. His eyes went wide, mouth hanging open slightly as realization dawned. Then suddenly he snapped back into motion, stepping away from the counter, both hands aloft but not quite sure what to do with themselves so they hovered in the air, uncertain, pegleg creaking as his leg jiggled excitedly.

Yeah... yeah, he could work with this.

“Uh... you alright there Rat?” D.Va asked, leaning forward and peering at him doubtfully.

Junkrat grinned back at her, a sharp but genuine grin. For the first time in a week he felt a gleeful enthusiasm, and boy had he missed it.

“Ya don't gotta worry,” he assured her, “I got things  _ under control _ .”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no update, sorry about that guys. But you don't have to worry, I'm not giving up on this! I also have a [writing tumblr](https://spectre-writes.tumblr.com/) now, where you can hassle me for updates if you like, and I'll try to let you know if I'm getting close to finishing drafts.


	20. Chapter 20

HQ was nestled atop the high, rocky cliffs overlooking the ocean – Junkrat had never thought much of it, except that he was fairly sure it was built there for a reason – it was hard to access without the right transport. Isolated, and a good defensive position. It also had a nice view.

He wasn't the type to waste time gawking at it, but if the weather was good he was partial to basking in the summer sun. The warmth was nice. Not as oppressive as the blazing heat of Oz, but pleasant in a way he'd only experienced on rare occasions, when a miracle occurred and the atmosphere of the outback finally balanced itself for a few brief hours and all the horrors and hardships of the land didn't seem quite so bad...

Why he should enjoy anything that brought back memories of the place he didn't know, it was impossible to untangle his contempt and inexplicably still lingering nostalgia. It was ingrained in him. Etched under his skin. Couldn't quite scratch it out even if he tried.

At least Hog seemed to share a similar feeling, since he too was prone to haunting the metal walkways and outlooks when the weather was at its hottest. Perhaps they were both creatures of the sun. He certainly detested the cold.

That was all irrelevant though, what captured Junkrat's interest this time was the ocean itself. He'd never much cared for it before, it was just a big load of water that you couldn't drink, and there were no shallow shores or beaches to explore, only deep blue water and steep cliffs, hardly inviting to a man with one leg. As his plan began to take shape however he marveled at how convenient it all seemed. He was overdue a bit of luck.

The omnic liked to meditate atop the cliffs, gazing out across the water as the sun shimmered on the horizon. Unfortunately if was fifty-fifty as to whether the cyborg would be with him or not. That, Junkrat was willing to admit, put a spanner in the works.

Dealing with the omnic took priority - while Junkrat didn't much like the cyborg he supposed he was _technically_ still human and _technically_ an ally, so killing him was not part of the plan... plus he'd be a right pain in the ass to take down given what he'd seen of his fighting prowess. Finding a time when he knew the omnic would be alone was key.

So it was that skulking about in the early morning became a pattern over the next week for Junkrat. As distractible as he was, he had a plan, and a dogged determination to see it through, enough to focus him on the immediate necessity of the task.

To say he was stealthy would have been a lie – he was too loud, too twitchy, and more than a little prone to talking to himself. However there were no rules against being any of those things regardless of how early in the morning it was, and there were only a select few about to see him. They didn't bother to ask what he was up to. If they considered his behavior peculiar, they shrugged it off. It was _Junkrat_ , after all.

Eventually, he found himself rewarded. The omnic was alone.

Still, Junkrat hesitated.

The omnic sat with its back to him at the edge of the cliff, gleaming faintly in the orange light as the sun crept further over the horizon and bled out across the sea. It had not moved in the time he had been watching it.

It seemed all too inviting... what if the cyborg was lurking nearby? What if this was a trap, so temptingly laid out? But as he lingered out of sight he could detect nothing amiss.

Junkrat gnawed at his lip, letting out a small frustrated sound as he wrestled with his indecision.

This was the perfect opportunity, he couldn't let it slip through his finger... a quick shove, and down it would topple into the water, sinking to the dismal depths and far out of reach, never to be found... if anyone asked, Junkrat would deny having seen or heard anything. And things could return to how he liked them. The base would be safe again. Yeah, it was that easy...

Strengthening his resolve Junkrat abandoned his hiding spot and moved forward. He'd meant to move stealthily, but sadly that was not what he was built for. Whether it were the creak of his pegleg or the skitter of rocks tossed up by a clumsy step, something caught the omnics attention.

Junkrat froze, holding his breath, and slowly, ever so slowly, the bot turned to look at him.

They stared at one another for a moment. Or rather, Junkrat suspected it was staring, it was a tad hard to tell when it didn't have _eyes_.

Then, as it so often did, it raised a hand in its silly little circular wave. “Greetings.”

After a moment's hesitation Junkrat straightened up, sneering back at it. “Ya don't gotta play nice now, no one else here but you an' me.”

“Ah, I see. Still, that would be no reason for me to be rude. It is a pleasant morning, is it not? Perhaps you would like to join me in my meditation?”

“What the fuck makes ya think I'd wanna do that?”

The omnic shrugged. “You seem to carry a lot of anger with you, a chance to focus on relaxation and clearing your mind would do you good.”

“No way I'm lettin' ya mess with me mind, ya hear? I'm not stupid,” he growled.

“Of course not,” the omnic replied pleasantly enough, though there was a subtle shift in its robotic tone, something that suggested it had its doubts. “What can I help you with then?”

Junkrat scowled, weighing up the possibility of a tactical retreat. He'd wasted nearly a whole goddamn week waiting for the right moment though, and he was itching with impatience, he wasn't sure he had it in him to go back to quiet plotting without accidentally causing something explosive when his irritability reached new heights. Best to settle it now. The thing was sitting so close to the edge it was impossible to resist.

“Don't want your help,” Junkrat told it plainly, striding closer, “I know what ya are. Know what your _kind_ is. Know the sort of shit ya do. Ya ain't people, just like to act like it, act like ya got a _soul_ when it's all rust and bolts, an' you can fool the rest but ya ain't foolin' me, ya hear?”

“And how would you measure a soul?” It asked. “How would you detect it, if I had one after all?”

“Don't need to, ya ain't human, just metal, and metal don't have a soul,” Junkrat told it flatly, coming to a stop only a foot away. Even with his awkward posture he towered over the omnic, something he relished, though it did not seem to notice.

“I believe we must agree to disagree.”

“Shut it, I ain't here to listen to some bag of bolts,” he snapped.

“Then what are you here for?”

Junkrat opened his mouth to spill it all. To tell the bloody bot _exactly_ what he thought, what he intended to do with it, how satisfying it would be to finally free himself from its presence...

Something caught his tongue though, and Junkrat struggled, stuffing down his anger, clenching and unclenching his hands as he sought somewhere to stow it. He scowled.

“The view,” he grit out, meaning not a word, but it seemed to satisfy the omnic at least.

It nodded to him, and turned back to look over the sparkling water. “It _is_ a very pleasant view.”

Junkrat reached for the thing's shoulder and he _shoved_.

Or at least, he tried to.

Things happened in an odd sort of blur.

He was certain he made contact, but as he moved forward the thing seemed to shift its posture and despite his hand on its metal joint it twisted out of his grasp and added its own push to his momentum.

Suddenly Junkrat was off balance and careering forward. He tried to stop. His pegleg skittered uselessly on the rocks, his arms pinwheeled. It was too late though, and as he reached the cliff's edge and attempted desperately to backtrack his own weight pulled him over with a startled cry.

_Oh bloody hell, fuck, no..._

He twisted at the last second, lunging with his prosthetic arm. Whether he intended to grab the edge of the cliff or pull the blasted omnic down with him in a final moment of spite he didn't know, but he missed both.

And he was falling.

It was hard to process quite how royally he had fucked up in that moment. The sudden terror that seized him as he plummeted downward was far more all consuming than any self reflection.

He flailed on instinct, unable to find anything to snatch on his way as the rocks blurred past and the cliff's edge grew distant and looming and it dawned on him quite how far down he was and quite how much this was probably going to hurt-

Then he slammed into the water's surface.

The impact sent jarring pain shooting through his body, and he barely registered the cold or anything else in a flash of stunned silence. When, finally, his brain caught up he found to his horror that he was still falling. Sinking, more accurately.

And there was no air. There was no fucking air, and metal sank, _metal sank_ , and half of him was bloody well metal and he could feel himself being pulled down even as his frantic fingers clawed for the surface. His heart was pounding. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shriek at his own stupidity, but as air slipped unbidden from his lips he clamped his mouth shut and tried to ignore the increasing burning of his lungs.

Needed to think, needed to think, couldn't fuck up again now...

He fumbled with the straps of his pegleg, attempting to loosen it, but his hands were shaking and the saltwater stung his eyes and he saw little more than indistinct shadows in the growing dark. Junkrat tried to steady himself but he couldn't fight panic flooding his veins. Movements that should have been easy were clumsy and useless. He couldn't free himself. He couldn't, he _couldn't_ , and he was still sinking...

He clawed at the straps in a frenzy, digging painfully at his skin but to no avail, the effort only left him exhausted. His strength was waning fast and it was not something he could afford to lose.

Giving up on that avenue he turned his attention back to the surface. It was more distant than ever, a faint light impossibly far above.

He could feel the pressure bearing down on him. He could feel the mounting pain in his chest as he fought his own desire to breathe, swallowing convulsively but refusing to open his mouth.

His head throbbed. He felt tired. His arms wouldn't move right, reaching feebly upward as he continued to try to pull himself out of the depths despite the futility of the action.

Junkrat couldn't even understand the pointlessness of it anymore. All that mattered was that he did not want to die, and he'd fight tooth nail and claw toward whatever salvation presented itself. He forgot about his leg and his arm. He forgot about a lot of things. He forgot that he wasn't supposed to breathe.

The water seared his throat and it felt wrong, it felt so wrong, but as he attempted to cough it up and draw another breath he found nothing but more seawater rushing in.

Things were getting fuzzy. What was he trying to do again? He felt like there was something very important that he couldn't quite place, but he supposed that didn't matter. That was normal, after all. He was tired. Maybe he should just rest for a bit? It was easier that way... but he had to... what was it he had to do?

 

* * *

 

 

Light, and sound, and noise, and he was in agony, chest heaving as he coughed and spluttered and hurled and his body would not stop shaking. Junkrat did not understand. The fingers of his left hand twitched, and he thought he felt solid ground beneath them, rocks and dirt that he let himself dig into like he was clinging to the only tangible piece of the world.

The ringing in his ears was a bloody cat shriek, and he felt like there was a pressure in his head, a throbbing that would not go away. He drew one torturous breath after another, blinking rapidly as he attempted to make sense of his surroundings.

He appeared to be on his side. The view from there was not particularly interesting but he could make out a yellowish globe of light hanging above him, a pair of boots, and a larger, rather furry set of hands. After a moment mulling it over he decided that the boots were probably Soldier's, and that the monkey was the only one with hands that impressive.

It also occurred to him that he was lying down, and he very much did not want to be.

Junkrat struggled to sit, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him.

“Lie back down and keep still, Angela is on her way but you don't want to worsen anything before she gets here,” a gruff voice warned him, and when he made no move to obey he felt a hand on his shoulder attempting to ease him back down.

Immediately he recoiled from it, a snarl at his lips, and he caught Soldier's expression of alarm before the dizziness hit again and he toppled over.

“Is he alright? Given, uh, the circumstances I mean?”

“Alright enough to disobey orders,” Soldier muttered, but there was an underlying unease in his voice, something Junkrat was unfamiliar with.

Miserably he considered the situation from the position of the ground again. Nausea followed the dizziness, and as he tried to fight past both to find some measure of strength with which to bluff his way forward, a new realization hit him and he stiffened.

Where was the omnic?

He couldn't be lying down. He couldn't be laid out this pathetically while it hovered ominously outside of his vision, so blatantly weak, such an easy target. His skin crawled, a sickening certainty overtaking him as he hauled himself into a sitting position with fresh resolve.

“Um, maybe it's best if you just take it easy for now?” Winston suggested hopefully, and Junkrat elected to ignore him.

His head turned in a slow arc, and there it was, arms folded in its lap as serene as always, no expression on the metal mask of its face.

Junkrat stared it down, eyes narrowed to slits. A little of the menace was lost when he still trembled, his hair was plastered across his forehead, and he couldn't quite manage to focus his gaze, but his spirit at least was unwavering.

A clatter of footsteps approached and his view was cut off as the familiar form of the doc materialized before him, her concern evident.

“What's his condition?” she demanded, studying him carefully but making no attempt to touch him yet.

“He appears to have sustained minor fractures, a loss in body temperature, and there's a possibility he may have inhaled water, though he started breathing again shortly after he was recovered. It's possible he may be experiencing some degree of shock. I've done what I can to soothe his injuries but this isn't really my area of expertise,” the omnic replied, and Mercy gave a nod of acknowledgement.

“Alright. Jamison, I'm going to have to check a few things which means I'm going to have to touch you, do you understand?”

“Yeah,” he managed to croak, though he could not find it in himself to relax.

The omnic was all his mind wanted to revolve around. Because he didn't know why he was alive and not rotting at the bottom of the ocean, but he did know he'd just tried to kill the thing... and it knew. It bloody well knew.

All it had to do now was utter a few gentle words to the others and it was all over for Junkrat. It would take all this away from him, steal this place away and there was nothing left he could do… he’d played right into its hands.

He hated it. He hated it so much. Yet he was cold, and shaking, and the air felt raw and ragged and his seething hatred was sodden and muted by his own wretched state.

Junkrat barely paid any attention to Mercy as she got him to follow her directions, checking whatever it was that worried her. Nor did he know quite when the blanket around his shoulders got there, or when Roadhog arrived wheezing like he'd run a marathon.

He didn't care much about what everyone was saying, it was all just a wall of sound that contested with the ringing of his ears and a bone deep exhaustion he'd hoped never to experience again.

It was only when Soldier began questioning the omnic on what precisely had happened that his senses seemed to snap back into place. Too bright, too sharp, the edges of awareness felt jagged, but he could not allow himself to miss this.

Tension returned to his shoulders.

“He was admiring the view when I came up, I fear I must have startled him for he lost his balance and fell. It was entirely my fault,” the omnic said smoothly, hanging its head low as if with guilt. “I should have left when I realized he was here.”

“You're sure that's what happened?” Soldier asked.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

Soldier sighed. “No reason. But I trust your word, and you shouldn't blame yourself. It was an accident, and you called for assistance as soon as it happened. Fawkes may well have slipped even without you here and then no one would have known before it was too late.”

“That would have been most unfortunate. Perhaps it is best if he remains inside for a time?”

“Not a bad idea,” Soldier agreed readily.

It didn't make sense. Junkrat couldn't make head or tail of the situation. Why had the omnic lied? What could it possibly stand to gain? It had Junkrat pinned, one word would quickly condemn him, he'd just tried to shove it off a cliff and yet here it was covering for him...

It had to want something. Maybe it drew some sick satisfaction from this, from knowing it held something over him, from putting him in its debt... but Junkrat didn't believe in debt, and he sure as fuckin' hell refused to owe anything to a bot... the only thing he was giving that rust bucket was a frag to the face.

His breathing was picking up, agitation swirling inside was he tried to collect his thoughts enough to think, to bloody think of a way out… nothing made sense, nothing ever made sense here...

He didn't think he blacked out, not exactly, but he wasn't sure how much time had passed when he found himself in the medical ward.

Wasn't the first occasion he'd found himself missing a chunk of time, but at least he felt confident it couldn't have been long because his hair was still damp. He felt warmer though. And calmer. Some piece of his mind must have settled itself during whatever period had passed.

He was also back in one of those stupid beds that he'd spent so long fighting to get out of, and he let out a groan at the realization. “Shit... didn't wanna be back here for at least a month...”

A snort sounded to his right. “It’s yer own fault.”

Junkrat sat up. He turned a haughty look to Roadhog. “And how'd you know, eh? Were ya watchin'? What if I told ya the bloody bot pushed me?”

Roadhog just stared at him. There was an accusation in that look that made Junkrat uncomfortable, had him fidgeting about and glancing elsewhere. Hog had told him not to do this again, to fuck up badly enough his life hung in the balance, and yet he’d gone and done it anyway cos he just couldn’t help himself…

What if no one had pulled him out? Pretty dull way to cark it, he’d always wanted to go out with a bang, not at the bottom of the ocean… Maybe he should have told Hog, let him in on the plan… why hadn’t he? Cos he wanted to fix his own mess for once? Why the fuck should the details matter? Weren’t they supposed to be a team? Or was he fucking that up too?

Too much to think about, it didn’t matter, but he wasn’t gonna let the big lug guilt trip him.

Junkrat jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don't ya think you can hide behind that mask, pig face, I know ya givin' me that look, an' I know what ya thinking, and I don’t appreciate it!”

“Ah, Jamison, talking again are we?” Mercy's pleasant voice interrupted as she drifted over.

Junkrat scowled, huffed, and somehow managed to find his grin. He flashed his teeth, straightening up and attempting to look as healthy and uninjured as possible despite any protests his body may have. “Yeah, can't deprive the world of me wonderfully soothin' tones, right? Would be a proper tragedy. So, doc, what's the news? Tell me I ain't gonna have to stay here.”

“Thankfully not,” she said with a smile, “the internal scans are all coming back fine and you seem to have regained some of your... natural energy, so there's no need. You really should take better care of yourself though. You're still recovering, try to remember that.”

“Course.”

“And if you ever need me outside of your regular checkups feel free to stop by, or request an appointment, no more jumping off cliffs, please.”

“Pfft, nobody appreciates drama,” Junkrat stage whispered to Roadhog, swinging his legs off the bed. He was a little wobbly at first but quickly found his balance, the various aches and pains that plagued him being more than easy to deal with. With a friendly wave to the doc he limped off, Roadhog at his heels.

“What happened?” his larger partner asked when they were out of earshot. He was still peeved, Junkrat judged, but he’d known him long enough that he could tell the feeling was quickly mellowing to exasperation now that Junkrat was moving around on his own again.

“Still tryin' to figure that one out,” he muttered, fussing with his hair. It kept flopping in his face with none of its usual wild spring, and the salt water had done something weird to it. It was damp, and it felt wrong, and the more he fretted over it the more irritated he became.

“Stop that,” Roadhog warned, “gonna get yourself caught.”

He looked pointedly at Junkrat's prosthetic hand, which was busy trying to wrangle some sense into his blond locks.

Junkrat, in turn, stuck his nose in the air. “Shut it, I know what I'm doin'.”

He did indeed get his hair caught in the joints of his prosthetic hand, and freeing himself was a painful and largely humiliating process. All the while he _knew_ Hog was wearing that smug 'told you so' look under his mask, which did not improve matters.

“Said you're trying to figure it out,” Roadhog said, once Junkrat was mostly done and simply picking at the loose hair still sticking out of the joints of his fingers. “Can't remember or don't know?”

Junkrat paused, glancing both ways to check they were alone. He beckoned Hog closer. Once the giant bent to lend him his ear Junkrat told him, “tried to shove the bot off the edge, only it did some... weird twisty shit an' I ended up goin' over instead.”

Hog considered this for a moment. “The bot said you slipped.”

“Yeah,” Junkrat muttered, expression doubtful, “that's the bit I'm tryin' to figure out...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't proofread this so sorry for any dumb mistakes or if it's in need of polish... but I didn't want to keep hanging on to it so here we go. Also, I lost a bunch of subscribers but gained a bunch out of nowhere? So if you're new hello, I hope you're enjoying this and sorry I don't have regular updates.


	21. Chapter 21

Rust wasn't something Junkrat had to worry about too often. He was diligent enough about oiling his prosthetics, and frankly there had never been much water in the Outback anyway. The rain was sparse, and when it did rain... when it did rain, you'd have to be a right fruitloop to stand out in the open. Never could tell with rain.

Sometimes it was a blessing, liquid gold to parched throats and brittle plantlife, soaking into the cracked ground and washing the dust from tin roofs like the healing hand of god. Other times it could melt a bloke's skin off.

Course, rain in the rest of the world was a good deal more frequent and largely harmless. It had taken Roadhog a while to convince him, but he hadn’t yet seen anyone blistered or burned by the fall of rain outside of Oz, and when the bastard had shoved him out into it to prove a point he had to admit it felt more gentle than anything. Hadn't stopped him painting over the lenses of his mask during the night in retaliation, and that caused a whole shitload more trouble than Junkrat bargained for, but as each storm passed tame as the last he began to accept that the rest of the world didn't share the same problem.

He still avoided the rain where he could, partially out of habit, partially because... well, rust. It was an unfortunate consequence of his metal limbs, and one he couldn't see a way around. Except maybe getting some fancy prosthetics like Symmetra's arm, but he was fucked if he was ever gonna let someone else build any part of him – he liked knowing how they functioned, he liked knowing he could probably fix them in a pinch. He liked them because they were _his_.

But right now after a short stint in the ocean they needed cleaning, cos the last thing he wanted to deal with was bloody rust.

Roadhog stuck closer than usual to him as he set up in the workshop. He started with the arm, pulling off the casing so that he could get at the inner mechanisms to wipe them down and chase out any lingering moisture.

“The bot has to go... and I know what ya gonna say, that ain't _news_ , but it's up to somethin', and it makes me skin crawl,” he muttered as he worked, removing one of the many pieces designed to guide the wires that articulated his fingers. “Trouble is, it ain't just gonna disappear. It's like ya said before, we shoot it, we go – they won't understand it's gotta be done. But we ain't fuckin' leavin' cos of this tin can. So... so, I'm thinkin' the _smart_ thing to do is wait till we land a mission with the thing, see that it has a little _accident_ , right? But there's no bloody tellin' how long that's gonna take, they still got me loungin' around like some kinda invalid-”

“Still injured.”

“So what?” Junkrat demanded, stabbing the screwdriver with a little more force than necessary. “Ain't like I've never had ta fight with a few cuts and scrapes before, I can walk an' shoot and those are the two important things, yeah?”

“Few more days,” Roadhog told him.

“Few more days,” Junkrat parroted mockingly. “Then what? Think they might have me on probation or some shit, still pissed about the last mission. But let’s say they let it slide, right, but then we still got no way of knowin' how long ‘til they stick us on a mission with the bot. Could be months, and I'm tired of waitin', Roadie, I'm tired.”

The last words came out as a whine. There was more truth to them than he liked to admit, things weren't making sense again and he didn't know how to fix them... it was all wrong, and he didn't know, he didn't know... the spiral of uncertainty was threatening to overwhelm him once more, and he really should just go blow something up cos that at least always seemed to ground him. To chase away any doubt or fear, leave only flames and smoke and lethal firepower at his fingertips... fingers that itched so badly for a trigger to pull.

But his arm needed cleaning, and his little dip in the ocean had sapped his strength leaving his body weary and sore, and if it wasn't for everything else he'd honestly just want to curl up in corner and sleep...

But he couldn't.

He slumped forward across the workbench, considering the mess of his partially constructed mechanical arm, twirling the screwdriver between his fingers.

He was aware of Roadhog's eyes on him, but it was a while before the man spoke.

“What do you call a pig that's no fun?”

Junkrat paused, lifting his head slightly as he turned to fix him with an inquisitive stare. “Dunno, mate, what?”

“A bore,” Roadhog informed him, perfectly deadpan.

It took a moment for him to process, but then it finally clicked, and a grin split across his face. Junkrat snickered, then laughed, then broke into full out breathless cackles, slapping the work bench appreciatively and sending the components in front of him scattering. “Mate, you're a riot, proper comedian!”

Junkrat had the suspicion it was a joke he'd probably been told before, but frankly he didn't give a toss, because it was _hilarious_ and he saw no point fighting the warm feeling washing over him. His grin lingered, and reached across to give Roadhog's belly an affectionate poke. “Need to rethink yer career choices.”

Roadhog snorted, giving him a gentle shove in return, and Junkrat just giggled.

As soon as his glee subsided to something more sensible he straightened up, nodding to himself. “Ya right mate, we'll figure this one out. Watch my back an' I'll watch yours.”

Roadhog folded his arms. His posture may have been stern, but his tone seemed more resigned than anything. “Tell me first. Before you start shit next time.”

“Sure... ya got my word,” Junkrat promised, trying to figure where he'd left off work on his arm in his mirth. He couldn't quite remember which parts he'd finished cleaning, hadn’t had a system in mind when he’d set to taking it apart so he’d put some of the more important stuff back in while other pieces still littered the work bench. He ended up having to check most of it over, but that was fine. He had Roadhog for company, and that big oaf somehow always made him feel a little steadier. He'd had years to earn that aura of security. From the lawless society of the Outback to the countless countries they’d plundered during their international crime spree, somehow the two of them had always pulled through. This time was just a little more complex, but so what?

By the time he'd finished work on his leg though exhaustion was weighing on him more than he expected. Stifling a yawn, he stretched, ignoring the crack of his joints.

“Think ya can keep an eye out for the bot for a while? Thinkin' I could use a nap right about now.”

He didn't need to explain why vigilance was important, why they needed to be sure the omnic wasn't up to anything while he lowered his guard. Oh, on that they both shared an implicit understanding.

Roadhog gave him a nod and a low grunt of confirmation, and Junkrat hauled himself up, ready to stagger off through headquarters in search of a secluded spot to settle.

“Rat,” Hog called after him, and he paused. “Tell me first, _remember_.”

“Yeah yeah,” Junkrat said with an absent wave, “message received.”

 

* * *

  


He awoke with a stiffness in his muscles and the hint of a headache threatening his skull. Worse than that though was the sense of uncertainty that left him staring at the ceiling for a good few minutes longer than he needed to. As he listened to the rattling of the pipes in the darkness Junkrat was struck by an uncharacteristic hesitancy. Time was meant to be spent. He’d never liked inactivity, needed things to do, itched for them, a compulsion that had gripped him for as long as he could remember. Yet he couldn't work out where to start... like searching for the end of a length of string but only finding a tangled mess that refused to come undone… and then being told you couldn’t just hack it apart with a knife.

It always came back to the omnic.

He grimaced. Cold, mechanical, _dangerous_ , and somehow untouchable because Overwatch didn't know what the fuck they were dealing with. Somehow he needed to solve the problem skirting _their_ rules, needed to be smart, needed to be careful... for once he couldn’t shrug his shoulders and blast the problem into tiny pieces with his favourite tried and tested solution - explosives. This required more fineness...

But he didn't have the answer yet, had fucked up his last attempt, so for now there was nothing to do about it... nothing but hesitate, with the same energy that had him jittering on the spot when he wasn't sure where to go.

But he couldn't just lie there. Couldn't, cos he was never good at staying still, and because even if he didn't have the solution right now there was other stuff to do, and if he wasted more time he'd just get himself worked up and panicking over the bloody omnic all over again, and he'd be going in circles.

One foot forward, right? Or peg leg.

He snickered to himself. Yeah, that was the spirit.

Junkrat stretched with a systematic popping of joints, immediately moving on to grab his limbs from where they rested beside him and re-attatching them to his person. When he emerged from the boiler room he’d hidden himself in and out of the lower reaches of the base, he ambled without any real direction in mind, trying to pin what exactly it was that was driving him... something that didn't involve the bot.

Maybe he should visit someone. Have a good yak.

But his launcher supplies were still low, and as Junkrat thought about it, he decided that was the more pressing matter. Even if he couldn't risk using it, he liked having firepower at his disposal. Made him feel strong, like he had weight to throw around. It took the edge off things for a bloke to have a few little friends like those to fall back on.

So _that_ was what he’d do, right? And maybe once he got bored of that, he'd go look for someone to pester, but searching around the base these days always ran the risk of bumping into the bot. Ruined everything.

Satisfied he at least had decided what the hell he was doing, he limped back to the workshop. With Roadhog keeping an eye on the tincan he didn’t expect an ambush to be waiting for him.

Maybe he shouldn't go calling it that these days. It was just D.Va and Lucio.

Still, somehow they just _knew_ where to wait for him, had even tracked him down where he slept once or twice despite his peculiar choices of hiding spot, and he knew they never meant any harm. He _knew_ that. Just didn't particularly like walking into a room and finding people waiting there for him with sharp, attentive eyes, or the way they always alerted at the sight of him like bounty hunters across a bar. Made a fellow double check his exits. Made his fingers twitch for his frag launcher.

Still, he managed a lopsided grin and oh-so nonchalant wave, kicking his instincts back where they belonged.

“G'day. Not often I see ya round here.”

“We were looking for you,” Lucio said, and Junkrat frowned, searching his tone for a hidden layer of accusation there. He didn't look angry, not really, but he looked... something.

“Why?” Junkrat asked airly, wandering the rest of the way in to dump his things on the workbench. No sign of Symmetra or the workshop’s other frequent users. Might mean nothing, he had no clue what the time was.

“Cuz we heard you nearly got yourself killed, dummy, why else!” D.Va interrupted, arms crossed impetuously. She sat on one of the other workbenches, legs swinging above the ground. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Junkrat gestured to himself. “Well, I still ain't dead.”

“Yeah,” she said, “but are you _okay_?”

He frowned, scratching at the back of his neck. Wasn't quite sure how to answer a question like that, or even how it was relevant, but it seemed like she expected something from him nonetheless. Explaining his mess of emotions regarding the whole business and everything surrounding it wasn't something he wanted to do even if he thought he could articulate it... He decided to remain evasive.

“Was me own fault, no surprises there,” he settled on eventually. “Ain't gonna say it was pleasant, but the doc let me go so I'm all good, just tuckered out is all. No bits missin' or nothin'. At least no more than usual.” He gave a forced chuckle.

Junkrat didn't think it was what they hoped for, but thankfully they seemed to accept it anyway.

D.Va sighed dramatically. “Yeah, except your hair's acting different, all squashed... wish I had seen it when it was wet, I bet you looked like a total drowned rat.”

An image of a very bedraggled creature sprung into his mind.

“Hana...” Lucio nudged at her worriedly, but he needn't have been concerned. Junkrat's grin broadened, and before he could help it one of his giggles burst forth, followed shortly by a proper laugh.

“Shit, you're right!”

Lucio shook his head, amused despite himself. “It's not that funny dude.”

“Let him have this,” D.Va told him, a smile tugging at her lips.

Junkrat paced, trying to figure out where to situate himself. He eventually settled for one of the stools, dragging it across the floor with a squeak as he set it where he normally worked. As he sat down, D.Va scooted closer, switching workbenches, and Lucio grabbed a chair of his own.

They intended to stick around then? Not that he was complaining, but he still wasn't entirely sure why they were here. Probably would have already heard he was still ticking, and he would have shown up anyway given time... didn't make much sense lurking in the workshop for him to drop by. They never spent much time here.

Lucio might as well have read his mind, because his voice dropped to a more level tone and he leaned just a little closer. “Seriously though,” he said, “you should have told us, we had to hear about this from everyone else and then you know, we couldn't even find you... you had us both worried!”

Junkrat set his eyes on his knee. Needed a new coat of paint soon. He let his attention rove across the various scrapes and markes across its orange surface, like he was mapping out the details. “Ain't gotta fret about me.”

“It's not about _having_ to, man. We do, alright? And... it's not your fault or anything but it would have been nice to hear something from you before you disappeared.”

“Right...” he muttered. Course he'd messed something up again. Wasn't used to having people who needed to know this stuff, who cared enough to _want_ to. Seemed like having people who cared was a whole lot of work he'd never accounted for. There was always something else he was fucking up without even realizing these days.

Lucio continued. “We're not... look, we're not mad at you, just would have liked to see you were alright... you know you can always talk to us?” His expression was earnest, searching Junkrat’s own face for some kind of reaction.

Junkrat shrugged. “Ya keep tellin' me so.”

“Because it's the truth,” Lucio said with more force, “don't ever doubt it.”

He shifted, chancing a glance up to take in both of them. “I hear ya.”

Lucio smiled, and Junkrat found himself grinning back without meaning to. How Lucio was able to do that Junkrat didn't know, the guy's smile was just infectious, like bloody magic.

“Good,” the DJ said. “Just wanna be sure we're clear on that.”

“But more importantly than all that, ugh, this is gonna keep bugging me...” D.Va broke in, “you know your hair normally sticks up, right? Well now it's just sort of clumped to one side and it's all wrong...”

Junkrat lifted a hand to investigate. She was probably right, and the salt had left it stiff and the texture felt strange. Taking a nap in a dark corner probably hadn't done it any favours. “Yeah dunno what to do 'bout that, probably fix itself, normally does.”

“Do you mind if I have a go?”

He hesitated. He was pretty sure he knew what the right answer was, and he was also pretty sure it was safe, but still a nagging doubt hovered somewhere in the back of his mind.

But D.Va just sat there, patient, smiling, nothing forceful or demanding in her posture or voice. Kind of made him feel stupid for the whole thing. “Go on then,” he said as if it were the most casual thing in the world, “do ya worst.”

“Promise not to pull.” She gave him a reassuring wink, shuffling closer until she could reach, and Junkrat focused on ignoring the prickling sensation at the back of his neck that begged him to keep her in his sights, because he knew it was just D.Va and whatever his instincts said she wasn't about to hurt him. He repeated that to himself firmly as he bowed his head to make it easier for her. Sitting on one of the workbenches gave her a good vantage point but it only did so much when compared to his height.

Despite any lingering misgivings, D.Va proved surprisingly gentle. There was a delicacy to her touch, as if she worried anything more rough might scare him off. But she needn't have worried, Junkrat remained where he was, even if he couldn't help but fidget. His hands managed to pluck one of his empty grenade shells from the workbench, drawing it back to his lap where he could turn it round and round as his foot bounced lightly on the rung of the stool.

Lucio watched the whole thing with open curiosity. “So, uh, Rat... gonna make me feel weird bringing it up now but, like... don't you normally not like people touching you?”

D.Va's hands paused for a second, but quickly went back to teasing his hair into some kind of order, and Junkrat let himself dwell on the question.

“Depends. It ain't... it ain't that I'm opposed to the idea, I just... ain't accustomed to it?”

How could he explain that in all his experience, finding yourself trapped in someone else's grip was never a good thing? That a sudden grasp or touch did more to spark his adrenaline than comfort him? Physical affection was still a fairly new concept to him. It had taken him a while to understand that every time Hog reached a hand out to him it wasn't just to slap him round the head for being a nuisance. That there were other gestures, kinder ones, that could be given. Sometimes it felt like Roadhog was only just remembering too, but in some ways that made Junkrat feel better, like he wasn't the only one stitching things together.

“Look, man, if it isn't your thing that's okay... you don't have to try to be like us, it's cool,” Lucio assured him. “We know you have-”

Junkrat let out a frustrated noise, irritated again that he seemed unable to express what he wanted. The truth was... the truth was that he kind of _liked_ the idea that people might want to touch him because they cared about him, even if he wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond. It was... it was unfamiliar, but at the same time it filled him with a strange feeling of hope. He wanted to belong. He wanted people to feel comfortable around him, to want him there. It just... didn't come naturally.

Outback life had been rough. You could laugh and grin and joke your way through, but at the end of it you had to watch every move another Junker made, cos there was always the possibility they'd decided you had something they wanted and were looking for the one moment you let your guard slip. Junkrat didn't think he'd ever be able to stop watching people with his flickering gaze, like the nervous attention of a small rodent. It was wired too deeply into him.

If he had time to process things though... to read a gesture for what it truly meant rather than some form of attack, to register the harmlessness of it, then he could manage. He'd been getting better at it. But Junkrat was still loud, and twitchy, and quick to snap when things didn't look right, and those were all the things that people didn't like, cos they weren't used to folk that acted like that... They saw it as a warning... kept clear...

That was ideal for the outback. Less so here.

But Lucio and D.Va hadn't backed away, and it was encouraging in some ways that they kind of... gave him that. Let him wrestle with himself, gave him the chance to pull back or tentatively accept whatever they offered, but always left an exit, always an escape.

He shook his head, D.Va letting go of his hair at the suddenness of the motion. “Nah... told ya already, I ain't opposed to the idea. Just takes some getting used to. Don't take well to surprises, so warn me first, yeah?”

He grinned in what he hoped was an encouraging fashion. He didn't want them to withdraw. Didn't want to spend the rest of his time kicking himself just cos he couldn't explain quite what he felt - a wariness and uncertainty that warred against excitement that spoke too loudly of the optimistic, stupidly sentimental side of himself he didn't have the strength to stamp out.

His metal fingers drummed against the hard shell in his grasp, his orange eyes carefully checking them both for a reaction.

Lucio regarded him skeptically. “...alright, if you're sure.”

“Course I am.”

He stilled a little, and D.Va's fingers slowly found their place, making a few final adjustments.

“I think I'm done,” she said, shifting back to admire her work, “what do you think Lu? How's it looking?”

“Looking good,” Lucio said, thumbs up in approval.

“Well, good as it's gonna be until you take a shower,” D.Va conceded, brushing her hands off on her shorts as she shuffled a respectable distance back, “The seawater around here is so gross.”

“Not the worst thing I've been covered in,” Junkrat said.

“I don't doubt it, but still, _ew_.”

He shot her a grin, reaching up to feel his hair.

“Don't you _dare_ mess it up,” she warned him with mock seriousness, waggling her finger. Junkrat just stuck out his tongue.

“So, were you planning anything in here?” Lucio asked. “More bombs and things?”

“Eh, had a few projects in the works, but was just meanin' to build some of the basics for now. Ya wanna see the fun stuff? Or... or I guess since it ain't nothin' complicated ya could lend me a hand with a few frags or mines,” he said falteringly. “If ya want, that is. Would show ya what needs doin', perfectly safe... mostly safe.”

“Think we've got different definitions of that word,” Lucio said wryly. “You know, I've been wondering though... you still working on fireworks? I remember you were going on about them a while ago but then I guess stuff happened...”

“Right, stuff...” Junkrat muttered, eyebrows knitting into a scowl. He'd forgotten. He didn't want to admit it but fireworks had been the farthest thing from his mind for a long time. But he remembered the spark of excitement he'd felt at the concept, and for a while how the idea had been bright and enticing, filled with images of wild flares of colours and the crack of explosions tearing through the night sky.

He'd wanted to build them. Not cos they were dangerous, or a weapon he could arm himself with, but because they were new and he wanted to see if he could... wanted everyone else to see as well, cos fireworks were somehow acceptable in a way his normal creations weren't, and he knew he'd build the biggest and most spectacular ones they'd ever seen.

That dream had faded as things spiraled out of his control, a fancy his brain hadn't bothered to hang on to and he'd lost until they'd brought it back to him.

“Rat? You still here?”

He started at D.Va's voice, blinking back to the present.

“Yeah. Look, ya really interested in the fireworks?” he asked, leaning back against the workbench and scratching at the side of his face absently.

“I guess?” Lucio said, glancing at D.Va, who nodded. “Just sounded like fun, you know?”

Junkrat swung himself off his stool, landing with a creak of shock absorbers as he sprang up and marched his way across to where he piled most of his supplies. It was a little chaotic, but he tried to label the important stuff with his usual chicken scratch, and keep the rest divided into piles of 'not dangerous' and 'possibly dangerous'.

He rummaged through them, muttering to himself as he tossed the unimportant stuff aside.

To his delight he found what he wanted. Potassium nitrate... sulfur... copper oxide for blues, strontium chloride for red, calcium nitrate for yellow... he must have got the supplies at some point, or Roadhog had, didn't really matter. They were there, and with a grin he turned to present his findings.

“Looks like we're in business,” he declared.

“You mean-”

“Mean I have everythin' we need, mate. Ya want fireworks then it's happenin'. I'll do it now, right now so I ain't forgettin', the both of you can watch me an' all!” The words ran together in one long stream, an energy possessing him that he hadn't expected.

There was more to it than that though. There was a tension in his body as he waited for their response, a desperation in his smile, cos the longer he waited the more the idea shook him that maybe he’d been  wrong... that maybe they wouldn't return his enthusiasm, and the fireworks would lose their magic and he'd sit back down and worry about making supplies to destroy whatever threatened him. Back to necessity, to old habits and fears. That somehow the dream would die again and would slip his memory without anyone to nudge it back.

But Lucio's smile slowly grew.

“Oooh, can I help?” D.Va asked, clasping her hands together. She teetered forward as if proximity was somehow going to help persuade him, almost falling off the workbench in the process.

“Sure,” Junkrat offered. “So long as ya listen.”

She turned to Lucio. “Come on Lu, build fireworks with us! I bet you can even make a green one.”

“Oh I am so down for this,” the DJ muttered, but still he paused a moment before addressing Junkrat in a louder voice. “Just to be clear, you _do_ actually know what you're doing, right?”

Junkrat gave him a haughty look, peering down his nose at him as if he were gravely offended. Maybe he should be, but it didn’t sting. Not that that ever stopped him putting on a show. “I'm a demolitions _expert_ , mate, those ain't just pretty words. I know my way around this kinda thing, even if it ain't my speciality.”

That seemed to be all he needed to hear, since the DJ hopped down from his own stool. “Alright then, let’s do this! But yeah, also like... take it slow too since we don't want any accidents. I trust you, but I have no idea what this stuff does.”

“I ain't gonna let anything happen to ya,” Junkrat assured him. And he meant it.

They ended up settled on the ground since they could sit in a circle around the various materials they needed and Junkrat could watch their movements critically, but there was something more relaxed about it too that he enjoyed. It just felt right.

But somewhere, in the back of his mind, two words were making a connection, and a spark of an idea was beginning to form.

Accidents... fireworks...

Accidents happened with fireworks. Convenient accidents perhaps? Could he find a way to make that happen?

But as he froze for a second hovering on the edge of something, he found that right now... right in that moment it didn't matter. Because honestly he just wanted to sit down and build fireworks with his friends, and babble about what made things explode and love the way they laughed or poked fun at one another... and for now, that was enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hana and Lucio continue to accidentally give Junkrat bad ideas...
> 
> First off, huge shout out to themiscyran for doing some awesome editing work, 10/10 appreciate it you're amazing!
> 
> Secondly, for those of you who don't know I've done a [Soldier oneshot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808998) covering his perspective of some of this story for those who are curious. Wouldn't have happened without people's suggestions but it was interesting to write.
> 
> If you want to keep track of how I'm going with drafts I try to mention if I'm making progress on [my writing tumblr](https://spectre-writes.tumblr.com/) so you know I'm not slacking off. Sorry as always for the wait!

**Author's Note:**

> I guess it sort of follows on from the last Junkrat fic I wrote, I just want to focus on the youngsters this time. Because.


End file.
